


The Time Travelling Darcy

by kiwigirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, Slow Build, Time Travel, in-story chronology provided at key points, just go with it, seriously it's really slow, you may need to take notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 38,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6419353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwigirl/pseuds/kiwigirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time he met her, he was six and she was twenty-four.</p><p>The first time she met him, she was twenty-two and he was twenty-seven.</p><p>Their story is not in the right order. Then again, what story is?</p><p>Vaguely inspired by The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 1944

**Author's Note:**

> I have been attacked by plot bunnies. They're not rabid, no. They're worse. They're FERTILE. AND BREEDING.
> 
> If this tickles your fancy and you want to read more, let me know.

“We’ll have a very short window to get on the train. Our timing has to be perfect. Monty, is the line all set up for tomorrow?”

Bucky’s about ready to tune out of Steve going over the plan for the thousandth time. Leaning back on the camp stool, he glances around the tent. It's pretty clear that Dum Dum's checked out, and Morita's sharpening his knife, not even pretending to pay attention. Gabe gives every appearance of assiduous listening, but he trades a wry smile with Bucky as Monty answers. He's pretty sure Dum Dum's nodded off when Bucky hears something from outside. Steve must hear it to, because he stops mid-sentence.

“What is it?" Gabe asks, immediately coming to attention. Monty elbows Dum Dum in the side, who splutters awake.

Bucky cocks his head to one side, concentrating. "Can any of you hear that?

Steve nods, but the others shake their heads. “You’ve got good hearing, though,” Dum Dum offers.

Cautiously, they exit the tent into the still night. The sound is clearer outside, and now even Monty can hear it. It is apparent that it’s someone swearing with some proficiency, and Bucky grins as he recognises the voice. "Sounds like someone's upset," he says, ignoring the odd looks the Commandos are giving him.

Steve understands, though, and hands him the lantern, motioning him forward. "Seems like they might need cheering up."

Following the voice, Bucky leads the Howling Commandos to a clearing, where a curvy brunette is huddled against a tree, clearly underdressed for the snow and yelling at the sky. “You are going to regret messing with the person who brings you coffee! One day you are going to fall asleep and I am going to shave that stupid facial hair off.”

Not for the first time, he wonders if she's an angel. But would that mean she's yelling at God? He puts that particular thought away and steps forward, deliberately making noise to warn her of his presence.

The woman stops cursing as they enter the clearing, blinking hard against the glare of the lantern Bucky carries. “Hello? Who is that? Where am I?”

Monty has his gun ready, but Steve directs the barrel downwards. “It’s okay, we know her,” he says softly. Monty nods, but doesn't put his gun away entirely.

Teeth starting to chatter, the woman asks again, “Seriously, who are you people? Stark, if this is one of your jokes, I’m not laughing.”

Bucky suddenly has an inkling of who’s actually behind this. The realisation knocks him enough that Morita’s the first to reach her and offer her his coat. “You look cold. I’m Jim.”

Bucky kicks himself for being too slow, but Morita's the only one of them who is anywhere near her size. She accepts with a smile, studies him with that little line between her brows as she puts the coat on. It comes down to her knees, but at least she stops shivering. “Thanks, I’m Darcy. Didn't really expect the snow. Jim … Morita?”

He nods, mostly satisfied and a little confused, even as Bucky wonders how she knows.

“Why don’t we get you inside before we do the rest of the introductions?” Morita suggests, and Darcy readily agrees.

Steve leads the way back their camp, his night vision good enough to not need more light than the waning moon above them. Bucky considers talking to Darcy on the way, but she’s having enough trouble navigating the forest in the flickering light of the lantern. Besides, she’s latched onto Morita as she stumbles along.

Back in the main tent, the Commandos assemble and Morita leads the introductions, aiming the lantern he's taken from Bucky as he goes. “That there’s Gabe, Monty, Dernier, this lump here is Dum Dum, and apparently you know Sarge and the Captain.”

That little line on her forehead has been steadily growing deeper, but when Morita’s done, her face goes blank with shock. “I-, er-, I need some air!” Pushing past Gabe, she bolts back into the snow. Without hesitation, Bucky rushes after her. There's a murmur of voices behind him, but Steve can deal with those.

It might be dark, but he has no trouble following her trail. She hasn’t gone far, thankfully, and he catches up easily. Darcy’s leaning against a rock and turns at his approach, squinting. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Bucky. Doll, are you okay?”

She shakes her head, muttering his name under her breath. ‘No, I…” she trails off, then exhales noisily. “This is going to sound really weird, but what year is it?”

He nearly laughs at the familiar question. “It’s 1944, and we’re in the French Alps. You picked a hell of a time to show up; we’re attacking a train tomorrow, would you believe it? Like one of those old Westerns, but in the snow, not the desert.”

She’s staring now, eyes adjusted to the weak moonlight filtering through the trees. “A… train? Bucky?”

“Yeah?” he’s starting to feel uncertain, which turns to alarm as she burst into tears. Gathering her into his arms, he strokes her back as she sobs. “Shh, shh. What’s wrong?”

Darcy pulls away slightly, wiping her eyes on the arm of Morita’s coat even as she keeps crying. “I’m sorry. I’m so-so-sorry,” she repeats, stuttering, before clamping her lips together and turning away.

She refuses to say more and he doesn't push. Instead, he just holds her as sobs turn to sniffles. This isn’t exactly how he thought this visit would go, but he’ll take her any way he can get her. There'll be other days to talk, he knows.

He doesn't know how long they stand there, him holding her petite form swathed in an oversized coat. It’s no great surprise when she disappears, melting away and leaving him with an empty coat and a whole lot of questions. He takes a couple of breaths to resettle himself, and makes his way back to camp. Steve’s waiting in the main tent, bent over the map for tomorrow, but the others have dispersed. He looks up as Bucky enters. “She gone already?”

Bucky nods, lays the coat over a nearby stool. “It was odd. She seemed confused, and…” He stops, unwilling to share her breakdown in the forest, though Steve would likely have been able to hear.

Steve gives him a considering look. “How are you?”

He shrugs in response. “If you’re worried about tomorrow, don’t be. We’re going to get Zola. I have a score to settle with him.”

Seemingly satisfied with that, Steve turns back to his planning. “Get some rest, then. You’re going to need it. Tomorrow, we've got a train to catch.”


	2. August 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely response to this fic! Be aware that it is one of those stories that is mostly plotted but not yet written, and I'll post it as I go. 
> 
> Having said that, here, have Darcy's perspective on the previous chapter! We won't see both sides of every meeting, but this one seemed important.

“You want me to _what_?”

Tony Stark doesn’t even look up from his screens as he gestures at the metal slab in front of him. “Just stand on the pedestal and tell me where you go.”

Darcy stares at her new sort-of boss. “Why would I go anywhere?”

She’s only been working in Stark Tower for two weeks. After they got back from New Mexico and Jane’s latest paper was published, she was flooded with offers from around the world. Stark was the only one whose funding stretched to include Darcy, so they moved to New York. Stark might be arrogant and bossy, but he appreciates her coffee skills and didn’t seem too much of a mad scientist.

Of course, he was also Iron Man. That alone should’ve given her warning.

“Every other thing I place there disappears when I activate the pedestal. Don’t worry, they come back after about an hour. But the process shorts out any electronics, so I have no data on where they go. So, if you just remove your phone and hop up.”

Darcy crosses her arms over her chest. “Nope.”

He finally stops fiddling and looks up at her, puppy eyes in place. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what it’s going to do to me. Safety first, Stark.”

He pouts. “I’ve tested it on living creatures, Lewis. All of them arrive back in an hour, alive and intact. The mice, the guinea pigs, even the dog. But none of them can tell me where they went. I’ve sent cameras, but they come back as slag.”

“Then go yourself.”

He raises an eyebrow, looks at her, unimpressed. “And who would monitor it from the outside, huh?” Her mouth opens to say _JARVIS_ but he points a finger at her. “Actually, don’t answer that. More importantly, this.” He gestures at the arc reactor glowing in his chest. “No electronics, remember. This is keeping me alive, I can’t let it short out. I’m not risking my life.”

“But you’re asking me to risk mine?”

He shrugs. “I’ll pay you a thousand dollars.”

“Nice try. It’d have to be at least a hundred grand.”

 “Done.”

“Wait, what? I meant…” Darcy trails off, thinking about just how much a hundred thousand dollars would mean to her mom. She sends home what she can, but interning doesn’t earn much and her student loans suck up most of it. “No electronics, you said?”

Tony grins, sensing victory. “Nope. Nothing that has a circuit.”

Darcy scowls, and places both phone and taser on the bench, next to the half-empty cup of coffee she’s brought to Tony. “If I die, you owe my mom a million bucks, you hear? No, ten million bucks. JARVIS, take note. And I want the hundred thousand now.”

“Acknowledged, Miss Lewis,” the reply floats back from unseen speakers. “The money transfer has already been initiated.”

Darcy steps up onto the pedestal and smoothes her skirt down nervously. She can’t back down now. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Tony nods, already looking down at his screen. “Right. JARVIS, I hope you’re recording this.” He taps a screen, once, and Darcy feels the world melt away.

* * *

It’s dark. And cold. She should never have done this.

Is she in space? She takes a deep breath and dismisses the idea, even as the cold air sears her lungs. Taking a step forward, she feels snow crunch under her feet. She takes a few more steps, hands feeling ahead of her, until she hits what feels like a tree. She plants her back against the rough bark. The chill seeps in through her light cardigan, and she hugs it close.

She can do this. Tony said an hour, right?

Thinking of him brings a grimace to her face, which is already aching in the cold. Friggin Tony. All his money and genius and he can’t send her somewhere _warm_. No, he sends her to the middle of some forest when she’s a city girl through and through.

A curse slips out from between her lips, the sound somehow reassuring as it breaks the silence. On the off chance that he’s listening, she curses Tony again, louder and louder, feeling better as she does.  She’s started on threats when she hears something to her left. A branch breaking, maybe?

She whirls, finds herself staring straight at a lamp that leaves her blinking. After the darkness, the light is blinding. “Hello? Who is that? Where am I?”

There’s a mutter of voices, but no one answers her. There’s a group of them, she thinks, but they’re all just shapes in the darkness. “Seriously, who are you people? Stark, if this is one of your jokes, I’m not laughing.”

A shadow looms, coalescing into a man who is shrugging off his coat and offering it to her. "You look cold. I'm Jim."

Darcy studies him as he helps her into the coat. It's way too big, but it's far better than her cardigan. "Thanks, I'm Darcy. Didn't really expect the snow," she explains, hoping he doesn't ask for clarification. Jim looks vaguely familiar; she's definitely seen his face before.  "Jim Morita?" she asks, unsure how she knows his name.

He looks relieved that she recognises him, and nods. She looks at his companions, all still blurry outlines, but he forestalls her questions with "Why don't we get you inside before we do the rest of the introductions?"

She's super curious, but given he just gave her his coat, she doesn't think it would be fair to keep him out here in the cold.

Luckily, their camp is not too far away. There are about six or seven men in this group (she's pretty sure they're all men) and all move relatively quietly, but she's too busy making sure she doesn't faceplant in the snow to do a proper headcount or avoid old branches. There's only one lamp somewhere behind her and Darcy relies heavily on Jim's willing help as she crashes through the forest.

There are a few tents set up, from what she can see, but Jim leads her to the largest one. He grabs the lamp off one of his companions and shines it around the room.

“That there’s Gabe, Monty, Dernier, this lump here is Dum Dum, and apparently you know Sarge and the Captain.” She was right, they are all men, and they all look naggingly familiar. Only when the lamplight falls on the last two does she realise how she knows them.

‘Sarge and the Captain’ are Bucky Barnes and _Captain America._ She's standing in a tent with the _Howling Commandos_ and wearing Jim Morita's coat.

Holy crap, this can't be happening.

She mumbles an excuse and forces her way out of the tent. The night is once again impenetrable to her eyes, but she pushes on blindly, trying to escape the impossibility behind her. She crashes into four low-hanging branches and trips over some roots before skidding to a halt, breathing heavily.

Once her breathing back under control, she realises someone followed her. "Who's there?"

“It’s Bucky," the answer comes. "Doll, are you okay?”

"Bucky Barnes?" she mutters. This is way too surreal. She realises he’s still waiting for an answer, but she doesn’t actually know. Question upon question whirl through her head. Could this be real? Are they going to shoot her as a spy or something? Why did Jim assume she knew them already? The answer to the last is niggling at the back of her mind, but she has bigger questions to answer. Namely, “This is going to sound really weird, but what year is it?”

The man in front of her relaxes, releases a veritable torrent of words. “It’s 1944, and we’re in the French Alps. You picked a hell of a time to show up; we’re attacking a train tomorrow, would you believe it? Like one of those old Westerns, but in the snow, not the desert.”

Hold up. 1944, and she’s talking to _Bucky Barnes_ who famously lost his life on a mission on “A… train? Bucky?” He _can’t_ be real. This _can’t_ be happening.

But the only Howling Commando to lose his life during World War Two is standing in front of her right now and she’s pretty sure he’s going to _die_ tomorrow. It’s too much. Darcy can’t help it; she bursts into tears.

She’s not sure how, but she finds herself enfolded in a hug and he’s stroking her hair as she cries. When he asks her what’s wrong, she doesn’t answer. Thankfully, he doesn’t push, which should make her feel better but somehow makes her feel worse. All she can do is apologise, again and again, hating the crying-induced hiccups but unable to stop.

Eyes screwed tight, she doesn’t notice when the world melts away again.

* * *

“Oh good, it worked. Tell me every- are you _crying_? Lewis, why are you crying?”

“Send me back, Stark. Send me back _right now_.”

“Not until you tell me what happened. Also, if this is a get rich quick scheme, that hundred k was a one-time offer and you’ve used it.”

“Fine. I went to the past and it was freezing. You’re lucky I was able to borrow a coat or you’d be paying up large to my mom.”

“You borrowed a coat?”

Darcy looks down. It appears Jim’s coat hasn’t come back with her - which is good, she thinks. He probably needs it more than she does. Or needed it. Huh. “It must’ve stayed there. Now send me back.”

“No can do, Lewis. I need to run some scans first, and you need to give more details than that. How did you know it was the past? Why do you need to go back so soon?”

Darcy opens her mouth, then closes it. Now that she’s several decades away, she’s doubting whether going back will be any good at all. How do you tell a man you think he’s going to die tomorrow? Will telling him make a difference? Can she even change the past if she already knows how it ends? Some things are fixed, she knows, and she has a terrible feeling that this is one of them. But she has to try.

Stark’s still staring expectantly. She supposes she does at least owe him the results of his experiments. But after that…

Darcy dries her eyes and steps off the pedestal.


	3. July 1939

Darcy lets her borrowed coat hang open and looks around. This... is probably not the French Alps. It certainly isn't winter, either. She's sweltering, and the press of people around her certainly doesn’t help.

Someone barges into her from behind, causing her to stumble. "Hey lady, get out of the way!" he says, in a distinctively American accent.

Spotting a newspaper stall through the crowd, she makes her way over to take a better look. It's selling the New York Times, dated July 12 1939. She's years from where she was last time. The war hasn’t even started yet, she’s pretty sure. She probably should have brushed up on her knowledge of World War Two.

Darcy catches the attention of the person next to her. "Excuse me, where's the subway?" If she can get to a subway station, maybe she can work out exactly where she is without looking like a total idiot. The woman waves a dismissive hand to the right and Darcy follows the crowd down the street and into a station.

It's even hotter in here, and she takes off Jane's coat and hangs it across one arm. She really doesn't want to explain how she lost her friend's coat. She had asked permission, sure, but didn’t really bother explaining the whole ‘time travel’ part. Jane thinks she stepped out for tacos. As long as the coat comes back, she’ll have forgotten the entire thing by next week.

She feels a little bad about taking advantage of her friend’s distraction, but she feels disloyal enough, participating in Stark’s experiment. She doesn’t need a lecture on Science!safety from Jane, mistress of ‘just throw the switch and see what happens’.

Searching for a system map, she actually walks right into him, bouncing off his chest and only kept upright by the sea of bodies around them.

"Darcy?" He looks younger, his hair shorter and his face more angular, but at least he looks happy to see her.

“Uh-“

He must take her surprise as reluctance, because his face falls. “Listen, I'm sorry about what I said last time… it was wrong and out of line and I’m sorry. Can I buy you a drink and try to make it up to you?”

He looks so woebegone, she can’t help but nod, though she has no idea what he is talking about. At her agreement, his face lights up in a smile. Her traitorous heart actually skips a beat.

"Great!" he says, offering her his arm and leading her back towards the exit. "How long have you got?"

Darcy does some quick maths. "About 45 minutes?" She was definitely away for an hour last time, and she thinks it was an hour in the past as well.

He grins. “Perfect.”

* * *

He takes her to a small bar where he is greeted by name. He pulls out her chair and even drapes her coat over the back, before dropping into the seat beside her. When the bartender gets to them, he orders her a glass of her favourite port and a beer for himself.

"Bucky..."

"Don't worry, it's past five!" he assures her, adding with a grin: "On the 12 of July, 1939, in case you were wondering."

"Yeah, I checked a newspaper," she admits, taking a sip of her drink as it lands in front of her. "How did you know I like port?"

He shrugs a shoulder, lopsided grin in place. "I pay attention."

 _But that would mean..._ Darcy pushes that realisation away and recalls her purpose for stepping back on that pedestal. It shouldn't matter that she's a bit early; she has a life to save.

Some of her determination must show on her face, because Bucky looks concerned. “Doll, are you alright?”

She shakes her head. "Not really. I mean, I’m fine, but… Bucky, there's a war coming."

He nods seriously. "I know. I've been watching the newsreels. They say there’s trouble brewing in Europe."

"Yeah, but..." Darcy leans forwards and Bucky copies her pose, leaving their faces inches apart. She is suddenly conscious of the magnitude of her news. Also the fullness of those lips, currently creased into a frown. _Down, girl._ "America will get involved. Not for a few years yet, but it will. The whole world will."

Bucky's eyes go wide and he sits back. "How can you say that? How can you know that?"

She shakes her head. "I can't answer that. But trust me, I know. And Bucky, when that war comes, please don't sign up. Or enlist, or whatever you call it."

His eyes narrow in speculation and Darcy must choose how much to say, how much to change. Will this change the exhibit at the Smithsonian? Who dies if Bucky does not? She decides she's said enough. Hopefully she recognises the future she steps back into.

"I can't say anything more, so please don't ask," she begs. "The good guys win, we win, but please don't sign up."

"You're serious?" he asks, like he's hoping she isn't, like this is some huge practical joke.

She nods mutely, and he sighs.

"Okay."

"Really?" She doesn't mean to sound so surprised, but she had figured he would need more convincing than that.

"Really. I'm not terribly keen on going to war, anyway. Steve's the one with a hero complex. Betcha he'd be the first to sign up." His lips curve in a wry grin.

"Where is he, anyway?" Anything to change the subject. Anything to ignore the fact that Captain America doesn't make it out of the war either.

"He works at Colombia University, takes a bit longer to get back to Brooklyn. He'll be sorry to have missed you."

"Yeah, likewise," she agrees, like so much small talk. "Send him my l-"

The world slips away again, and the last thing she sees is Bucky, a sad smile twisting his lips as she fades away. At least she's saved him. She hopes.

* * *

The bartender claps him on the shoulder. “Your girl coming back to finish her drink?”

Bucky sits at the bar alone, stares at the half-finished glass. “Naw,” he replies. “She hadta go.”


	4. March 1927

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know some of y'all dislike the short chapters (and this one is particularly egregious), but I've been wrestling with the next one and decided to get this out instead

"Roxy Theatre, opening tomorrow! Read all about Samuel Roxy Rothafel and his new theatre!"

The clock tower up the road chimes the end of his shift, and Bucky lowers his arm with relief and stuffs the unsold newssheet back into his bag. The evening rush was long over and it was time to get home: Ma always had a nice meal for them on days like these.

"What's in the news today?" asks a voice at his elbow.

He looks up and grins. "Darcy!"

She smiles back, big and happy but also kinda tired-looking, like Ma after a hard day at the shop. "Hey Bucky, how's it going? Sold many papers today?"

He makes a face. "Not really. Not much happening these days."

"Can I have a look?"

He passes one over, sees her focus more on the date at the top of the page than the headlines beneath. She looks just the same as always, but now he's almost at her shoulder. She passes it back with a smile. "You were right, not much happening. Are you done for today?"

"Yeah, I'm going home now, want to come?"

Her smile dims slightly. "I'm not sure if I have the time."

"Oh."

"But we can always head back, see how far we get…"

He offers her his arm – Ma has been teaching him how to act like a gentleman and this is one of the only things that stick – and she takes it. One old man passes with a snicker but he reckons it just because they're jealous of how pretty Darcy is.

He tells her all about his day as they make their way back home. She doesn’t say much, but she listens much better than Ma does.

“How’s Steve?” she asks when his conversation runs dry.

“He got into another fight yesterday.”

Darcy laughs, the warm sound attracting more than a few stares. “Why am I not surprised?”

They are just turning onto his street when it happens. Between one step and the next, Darcy disappears. Closing his eyes against the sudden hollow feeling in his chest, Bucky hitches his bag higher on his shoulder and heads home.


	5. September 2011

Darcy puts her tablet back onto the table with a sigh. She doesn't understand.

She'd returned from 1927 to find Stark asleep at his desk. Feeling responsible, she'd dragged him to bed before crashing herself. The next morning, Jane had woken her at some obscene hour to be on a flight to Honolulu, from where some astrological phenomena are visible once every seven years. There's a convention of astrophysicists to commemorate and commentate, and Jane was invited to attend.

They’ve been here for about a week and her almost-obtained degree puts her several alphabets behind most of the academics here. After several conversations feeling hopelessly outclassed, she retreated to the pool with her tablet to take advantage of the free wifi.

With nothing else to do, Darcy set about researching Bucky Barnes. She might not know space, but she knows how to research. When it comes to World War Two, she's quite possibly now one of the most knowledgeable people at the convention centre. She now knows about his parents, his siblings, his childhood in Brooklyn and how he met the great Captain America, then Steve Rogers, at the tender age of 8. She's tracked down source after source: books, newspapers, journal articles.

All of those sources concur: Bucky Barnes dies sometime at the end of 1944 during a mission in the French Alps. The exact details of the mission differ from source to source, but it’s generally agreed that the Howling Commandoes retrieved something vital for victory at the cost of one of their own. Captain America sacrifices himself during another hush-hush mission a few weeks later.

It hurts her heart to think about it. The men she met, hale and hearty, but not a month later, both were dead. And despite her last visit it seems like there's nothing she can do about it.

Still, maybe she needs to focus on the difference she can make here and now; namely, retrieving Jane before she gets into an "I told you so" shouting match with that professor from Oxford.

_Three days later_

"Darcy, I'm sorry for abandoning you," Jane says, dropping herself into the lounger beside Darcy. "What have you been doing with yourself? Just sunning yourself by the pool?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Darcy replies non-committedly. "A bit of research."

"About what? You've already applied to graduate, haven't you?"

"Yeah, this is something different," Darcy hedges, wondering how much to tell Jane. "I was looking into time travel."

"What!? Darcy, you cannot mess with time travel."

"What's wrong with it?" asks Darcy defensively.

"Firstly, I'm pretty sure reliable time travel doesn't exist, and if it did, it would be extremely dangerous. I’m having trouble creating a bridge from here to Asgard and that’s bad enough, but adding in another dimension? Who knows where you would end up or what it would do to you?"

"Jane, you're in love with a demigod alien prince and you cannot talk to me about danger after New Mexico. Besides, if it doesn't exist, this is all purely hypothetical, right? I was just wondering how it would work. In fiction, like."

Jane acknowledges Darcy's point with a sigh. "Fine. What type of time travel are you thinking about here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are we talking causal time travel like Back to the Future, or a stable time loop like Terminator?"

"Wait, a stable time loop?"

"It's where you can't change the future and your actions to change the future may in fact cause that particular future to happen. If they didn’t send the Terminator to kill Sarah Connor, then that guy wouldn’t have come back to save her and he wouldn’t have slept with her so John Connor wouldn’t have been conceived. They actually made him happen by trying to kill his mom."

Darcy sits back. That option hadn't even occurred to her. "You know, I think it might actually be the second one." Could her actions have actually sent Bucky to his death? It's a sobering thought.

"There is another option: changing the past changes the future, but you forget the future that used to be so you think nothing's changed."

"No, it's not that."

Jane's gaze sharpens. "Darcy, we are talking theoretically here, right?"

"Oh yeah, absolutely," Darcy assures her friend, lying through her teeth. "Totally theoretical. Besides, when did you watch Terminator?"

Jane rolls her eyes. "Donald liked that kind of movie. The implications of time travel were the only interesting thing about it, but he was more interested in the fighting."

Darcy nods knowledgably, though she's never met the guy. "Yet another reason why you two never worked out."

Jane shrugs. "It was more that he didn't understand my research."

"Jane, no one understands your research. Except for maybe those boffins in there, right? Or are you light-years ahead of them, too?"

She shrugs again, a pleased smile playing on her lips. "Some of them get it. It's not that difficult, once you accept that interdimensional travel is not some foolish female fairytale."

"Exact words?"

Jane nods smugly."Exact words."

"Bet they loved having to eat them..."

"Best part of this conference."

_One week later_

Darcy surveys the room in front of her. "Stark, what is this?" Her erstwhile employer is _far_ too happy about an empty closet.

"I was thinking about the two-person problem: you need someone to send you to wherever you go. But! I rerouted the controls to the panel by this door. Now all you need to do is press the big red "press me" button and it will start the process."

"But where's the pedestal?" Darcy asks.

"The entire room is the pedestal! Except for that cubby there, that's for your electronics."

"Why are you being so helpful?" She asks suspiciously.

Stark smiles beatifically. "Who, me? I'm, always helpful. Especially when my lab rats can start their own experiments and stop bothering me for an hour. I’ve even hooked it up to its own power generator so you won’t interrupt any of my any other projects. It takes a week to power up between uses though. JARVIS will record all the results. I’m still working on a clock that can help you keep track of time, but the mechanisms all end up fried…”

“Have you considered an hourglass?”

For a second, Stark looks poleaxed. Darcy grins as he straightens up, nose in the air. “No, I had not. But I’m sure it would’ve occurred to me soon.”

Darcy pats his hand comfortingly. “You keep telling yourself that, Stark. You keep telling yourself that.”

Once a week, huh? Gives her plenty of time to take care of Jane and update her vintage fashion boards on Pinterest.

_Seventy-six hours and two enforced rest breaks later_

 Stark presents Darcy with a small hourglass, suspended on a long chain. It is plasma inside, he tells her, not sand, and when flipped, it clicks into place and will run out in exactly an hour. It even warms up to warn her with five minutes left. She slips it over her head, where it nestles out of sight below her neckline.

She grabs a coat, places phone and taser in the cubby. She thinks she’s getting the hang of this.

“Are you sure you won’t tell me whose life you are trying to save?” Stark asks from outside the door.

Darcy shakes her head firmly, though now she’s doubting if she can actually make a difference. “That’s between me and him.”

Reaching out, she pressed the button on the screen. For a moment, nothing happens. She looks at Stark, confusion written across both their features, then the world slips away again.


	6. May 1932

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've limited myself to one time period per chapter, so some of them will be shorter.

Bucky’s winding his arm back to throw the ball when Johnny Mack wolf-whistles at a woman who is standing by the fence and watching them play. She’s pretty and curvy and very familiar. He tosses the ball to Andy and jogs over.

“Have you always been this short?” he asks with a grin.

Darcy wrinkles her nose and looks up at him through long dark lashes. “I’m not short, you’re just tall. You must have had a growth spurt. How old are you now, anyway?”

He puffs up his chest. “I’m fifteen!”

Darcy laughs. “Oh, practically a man now and everything! School out early today?”

“Naw, it’s Sunday.” Bucky looks around: the boys are all watching them with varying degrees of curiosity and envy. “Say, you want to grab a soda?”

“Isn’t that expensive?” she asks.

“I’ve been saving up,” he tells her.

“Well, if you’re sure.”

He nods. “Ain’t nothing I’d rather spend my money on.”

Ignoring the hoots and catcalls from the other boys, he offers her his arm, and she takes it, though only loosely. At the diner, he buys her a soda. They find a booth and settle in; he tells her about the things he sees selling newssheets after school. Each time she laughs, her face just lights up and he knows no day could possibly best this one.

In the gap between stories, she presses a hand to her chest. “I have to go.”

He nods, slides out of the booth as she does.

“Thanks for the soda.”

“No problem.”

He’s leaning forward now, can see the flecks of green in her eyes, but she holds a finger against his lips and he halts. “You’re too young, Bucky.”

“But Darcy-“

Her smile is gentle. “Maybe next time?” she offers, and disappears.

He holds the promise close as he leaves the diner. 


	7. September 1925

If Darcy keeps travelling, maybe Stark will learn enough that he can direct where she goes. He has JARVIS correlating all the data she can give him: the date and approximate time she travels, the weather, even what she’s wearing at the time. They haven’t come up with anything just yet, though.

If she can choose where she goes, maybe she can still save him.

The chances are remote, but she has to try. Besides, it’s fun. She never thought life with Jane would be boring, but it’s settled into a routine and she finds herself looking forward to when the battery is recharged enough to try again.

This time, she arrives in the middle of a brawl.

“Break it up!” she yells, and wades in, pulling the boys off each other. She might be small, but at least they are smaller. The oldest are barely in their teens, if that, and some look considerably younger.

“Darcy!” one cries, and she squints at him. Underneath the blood streaming from a cut on his forehead, it is indeed Bucky, and she gives his collar a shake.

“What are you fighting about, then?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” he protests. “They were ganging up on him!” He points a finger at a small blonde boy who had been difficult to separate from the melee until a coughing fit took him out.

“They try and shake down kids for walking down the street,” he wheezes, and Darcy pats her pockets for the inhaler she stopped needing at age 11.

The three other boys deny this hotly- one even winds up for another swing at the blonde boy- but Darcy silences them all with a glare. “That’s enough. Go home, you three.”

They drop their gazes and limp down the road, shooting defiant glares at Darcy and the two boys who are left. She drops to her knees by the blonde boy and holds his shoulders. “Just breathe, okay? Look at me.  What’s your name, then?”

“Steve,” he rasps, and takes another breath. “Steve Rogers.”

Darcy almost drops her grip, takes a deep breath herself. “Nice to meet you, Steve. I’m Darcy. You and Bucky friends, then?”

Steve glances at Bucky, who is hovering at her shoulder. “Guess we are now.”

Bucky shrugs. “Sure.” He wipes his forehead, inspects his bloody hand. “You got a hanky?”

Steve and Darcy both shake their heads, so Bucky leads them to his home just up the road. A young brunette playing with her dolls in the lounge looks up as they enter.

“Who are you?” Spotting her brother, her eyes go wide. “You got in a fight? Ma’s going to be mad.”

“Shut up, Becky, and get the iodine. She won’t get mad if you don’t tell her.”

He takes them to a kitchen where he and Steve wash up. Darcy takes the rag and iodine that Becky brings and gently treats the cut on Bucky’s forehead and the one on Steve’s cheek. She’s admiring her handiwork when her hourglass warms.

“I have to go,” she says, and stands. “Oh, what’s the date?”

Bucky screws up his face in thought and winces as it pulls at his cut. “September the 24th, 1925,” he announces.

“Thanks, Bucky,” Darcy says. She looks at Steve and Becky, who both look rather confused. “Do me a favour, and pretend I wasn’t here?”

They both nod, though she’s certain Bucky has some explaining to do. Ruffling Bucky’s hair in farewell, she makes it all the way to the street before the world melts away again.


	8. February 1937

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There really is no excuse for how long it's been. I'm sorry!

“I’ll see you later.” He raises her hand to his lips with a grin, and she blushes in the most flattering way, before rejoining her friends as they leave.

“Gee, Buck, how come you get all the luck with the dames?” Steve complains from beside him as the chattering group of girls disappear down to the subway.

He punches his best friend on the shoulder lightly. “It’s James, now, remember? Bucky’s a kid’s name.”

“Sure, _James,_ ” Steve agrees. “How do you do it, then?”

He shrugs. “Girls just seem to like me, I guess.”

Steve sighs deeply. “You’re lucky.”

“It helps I don’t throw up on them,” he teases.

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You made me ride the Cyclone, that time!”

“Yeah, I know.” He glances up at the rollercoaster in question, is about to add something more when he spots a familiar face in the crowd. “Darcy?”

At her name, her head twists back and forth until she spots them, and the smile on her face knocks whatever he wanted to say clear out of his head.

“Bucky!”

He pulls her into a hug and ignores Steve’s snort of laughter. After a few seconds, she pulls back and studies him intently. “What year is it?”

“1937,” he tells her, sees that little line between her brows and once again wonders what it means.

“Valentine’s Day,” Steve adds, smirking. He’d punch him again but that’d mean letting go of Darcy, who is looking up at him through the longest lashes he’s ever seen.

“You got the time to show a girl around?”

“Always,” he assures her. He’d been planning to head home and turn in, but the early start tomorrow fades away in comparison with the woman in front of him.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Steve says carefully, and Darcy looks over at him in protest.

“Oh, there’s no need! Come with us. The more the merrier, right, Bucky?”

“Uh, yeah,” he agrees awkwardly. 

It’s not nearly as uncomfortable as he feared, because Darcy keeps up a cheerful stream of chatter aimed at them both. Neither he nor Steve can help but be charmed by her honest delight at everything Coney Island has to offer, but it’s Bucky with his arm around her waist, and it’s Bucky who she turns to when she says she needs to go.

“Do you have to?”

She nods, and she looks as disappointed as he feels, when he remembers a promise she made years ago.

“Do you remember what you told me in the diner?”

He can see the exact moment she does, because her lips pop open in surprise, then curve into a smile.

“I’m not fifteen anymore,” he tells her, and bends down to meet her.

Her lips are soft and taste like the candy apple he bought her earlier, and sure, maybe he’s kissed a few girls before, but this is Darcy, and he’s grinning so hard, it almost doesn’t hurt when she vanishes from his arms.


	9. January 2012

Darcy floats back into Jane's lab to find Jane staring at a screen. As the door shuts behind her, Jane looks up.

"Where have you been? All JARVIS would tell me was that you weren't in the labs."

Darcy pauses, debates what to tell Jane. She's been lucky thus far, if lucky is what you want to call it. All her jaunts into the past have gone unnoticed by her friend. At this point, she's not really sure why she's still keeping it a secret: if anything, Jane might be able to help predicting and perhaps directing where she goes.

She's told herself that Jane would be worried and she doesn't want to weigh her down when she's just starting to accept that Thor isn't coming back. Really, though, these trips are _Darcy's_ , something that she can do that no one else can. Tony is distracted with his new Tower and is content with the data JARVIS collects, but if she tells Jane, she'll have to tell her everything, and she doesn't want to share. Not yet.

She's wondering if Jane will accept a half-truth, but Jane's not stupid. Far from it, really. She's _focussed_ , and right now, that focus is aimed squarely at Darcy.

"Mussed hair, smudged lipstick, dopey grin..." Jane's face lights up. "Darcy, were you on a date?"

Sending up a silent prayer of thanks, Darcy nods. Jane pounces on this admission with glee.

"Who is he? How'd you meet? When do I get to meet him? It must be serious to put that look on your face."

Darcy holds up a hand to stem the flow of questions with a laugh and buries her little stab of guilt at the deception. "His name is James, and I kinda kept bumping into him until it turned into a thing. It's new, okay? I don’t want to jinx it or anything, it might not even work out."

Jane nods, but Darcy can tell she's still bursting with questions.

"So what are you working on now?" Darcy asks, hoping to distract her.

It works; Jane bursts into a flow of Science!babble that Darcy can only understand about half of. She must be getting better, because back in New Mexico, she found less than a quarter intelligible. From what she can hear, Jane's been running simulations on quantum something and will need a new whiteboard for all her notes.

"Why didn't you just get JARVIS to order a new one?"

Jane blinks. "I forgot about that. JARVIS-"

"Already done, Dr Foster. It will arrive in an hour," the carefully modulated voice of the AI comes, and Jane relaxes.

"It's nice, being funded by a gazillionaire," she says. "He pays for everything."

"Not that you take advantage of it," Darcy teases. "Most of your stuff is still held together with duct tape."

"They are custom made and specially calibrated," Jane protests, the argument a familiar one. "You can't get them on the market, not even with Stark's money."

“Uh, Jane… I think your special snowflake machine over there is smoking.”

It is, and Darcy runs for a fire extinguisher as Jane yelps and pulls the plug. At least now JARVIS knows better than to set off the sprinklers immediately. Jane’s notes were _soaked_.

Darcy spends the next little while fetching and holding for Jane as she tinkers with her recalcitrant machinery, then the current simulation finishes and Jane gets caught up in analysing the results. Darcy takes the opportunity to check in on Tony and order in some dinner for all of them. Sometime during this, the whiteboard arrives and Darcy oversees its move up to the lab. Well, she tells them where to go and takes the next elevator up.

Jane’s engrossed in her work when the food arrives, but Darcy is not deterred. She just asks Jane questions and stuffs dinner in when Jane opens her mouth to answer. New Mexico has given her many skills, but this one comes straight from the part time babysitting job that funded her through high school. That, and baking for the stoners. Never let it be said that Darcy lacks entrepreneurial talent.

As it approaches midnight, Darcy starts unplugging the machines and switches both Jane and Tony to decaf. It’s part of her nightly routine and works about 88% of the time. She doesn’t always get them to go home, but even getting them to nap counts as success. When you work with geniuses (genii?), you gotta be smart.

Unfortunately, tonight is not one of the 88%. Tony starts yawning and allows Darcy to lead him to his car, where Happy will drive him home, but Jane is intent at her new whiteboard, never faltering even as her handwriting gets even more illegible. Keeping one eye on her boss, Darcy loads more music onto her beloved iPod, flicks through YouTube for a bit, and finally resorts to spinning in circles on her trusty old computer chair.

About 3am, Jane reaches the edge of the board and falters, swaying on her feet. Darcy springs into action, tugging her over to a chair, gently removing the marker from her grasp. Jane looks up at her, bleary-eyed. “Why hasn’t he come back, Darcy?” she asks plaintively, and Darcy realises the bottom quarter of the board is covered not with calculations, but with the design that the bifrost burns into the ground.

 _Stupid, stupid_ she berates herself. They’d talked about dating and she’d been so caught up in Bucky that she’d forgotten how bad Jane was hurting.

Once, aided by tequila, she’d asked Jane how it could mean so much when he was on Earth for so short a time. Jane had smiled and shaken her head.

“It’s like I fell the first time I saw him,” she’d confessed. “I hit terminal velocity and it hasn’t stopped since.”

“The first time?” Darcy’d asked skeptically. “You mean, when you hit him with the van?”

“You were the one driving! And okay, maybe not the very first time. But after that, you know.”

At the time, Darcy had just nodded and changed the subject before Jane got maudlin.

“Maybe he’s busy,” she suggests, dragging herself out of the past. Privately, she thinks the guy needs a good slap on the head. His arms might be majestic, but Jane deserves better than this uncertainty. “There might be more of the killer robots out there. Maybe he’s still looking for a horse!”

This makes Jane grin shakily, and when Darcy suggests calling a taxi back to their shared apartment, she agrees.

“Can’t wait until Stark Tower is ready,” she grumbles, putting on her coat. “Did you hear he’s planning to build some residential apartments there? You’re pally with him, you think you can wrangle one for us?”

“I can try,” Darcy assures her, calling the lift. “I’ll butter him up and we might even get one each.”

“Bake him those brownies. Everyone loves your brownies.”

“Except Marty, he doesn’t like chocolate, the weirdo.”

“Who?”

“Tony’s lab assistant of the month. He’s only been in and out of the lab about ten times this week.”

“Huh. What else have I missed?”

Darcy fills Jane in on the SI goss on the ride home. Really, it’s close enough to walk, but New York in January is not worth braving when you can charge the taxi to a company credit card. Conversation tails off as yawns overtake sentences, and both women are near dead on their feet as Darcy pays their driver and Jane fumbles for their keys.

Upstairs, Jane heads straight for her bed, but pauses, turns around, and gives Darcy a tight hug.

“Thank you.”

Darcy scrapes enough energy together to mumble a reply, then collapses onto her own bed. She’s headed off a Thor-related meltdown, got both Jane and Tony to go home. Oh, and she kissed Bucky. It’s been a good day.


	10. November 1938

Darcy’s not exactly sure when she started falling for him, but since that kiss, it’s been gaining speed. What was it Jane called it? Terminal velocity?

She can only hope that the landing isn’t as painful as it sounds.

As the room (“Pemberley”, she’s christened it, no matter what Stark says about her being in the closet)  fades away, she half-expects to see a Bucky who doesn’t yet reach her shoulder, or one who has shot up past her but whose voice still cracks and squeaks at inopportune moments. Instead, a nearby newspaper places her at the end of 1938. That's somewhere at the tail end of her travels so far, but well before America joins the War.

It’s funny how she now thinks of location as a time, as well as a place. JARVIS once tried to show her a graphical representation of her travels. It was very pretty to look at, but the fourth dimension made her head hurt. Really, it works better if she doesn't think too hard. Timey-wimey has never seemed like a more accurate descriptor.

There’s something about the date, this time period, that is familiar – is this when Steve’s mother dies? – but she can’t quite place it. Shrugging it off as one of those random facts she picked up during her research on World War Two, she looks around to examine her surroundings.

She’s on a beach, but it doesn’t look like Coney Island. The shops are all different and she can't see the Cyclone in any direction, though other fairground attractions light up the boardwalk. She hopes Bucky’s nearby. He always seems to be in the general area, but there have been times she’s found him only as her hourglass heats up.

Pulling out a mirror, she scans the crowds again under the guise of applying some lipstick. She doesn’t want to look too desperate, though. If her maths is correct (and after months with Jane, it better be), this might be the closest in age they’ve ever been. She didn’t want to overdo it if he was still a kid, but now…

Bucky’s nowhere in sight, so she puts her lipstick away and strolls along the boardwalk, ignoring the admiring looks from passing men. Her dress is one of the most flattering in her wardrobe; she picked it especially for today. About half an hour has passed and her feet are starting to hurt when she hears a familiar laugh from one of the booths on the waterfront. Heart beating faster, she glances past the couples trying to win a toy when her stomach drops.

Turning away from one of those booths is Bucky, one arm slung around a redhead, animated and cheerful. The girl with him is pouting in disappointment but nestled into his side and it looks like they can't take their eyes off each other. It’s Steve, ever present and the biggest sweetheart ever, who spots her, rooted to the ground, her anticipation quickly bleeding away into something bitter.

“Darcy?”

“Hi Steve.” She smiles, but it’s difficult, feels unnatural on her face. He's worth it though: Steve's never made her feel unwelcome or an outsider, has accepted her coming and going without batting an eyelid. He smiles back, but it's uncertain.

Bucky sees her and stills. “Darcy,” he says warily, the grin fading.

“Who’s this?” asks the girl at his side.

“Dot, this is Darcy. She’s an old friend. Give me a moment?”

“Of course.” Dot looks understandably confused, and not a little suspicious, as Bucky grabs Darcy by the elbow and steers her away.

He opens his mouth, but Darcy’s faster. “An old friend? Is that all I am?” She meant for it to sound teasing, but it comes out accusatory, and his face hardens.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Darcy feels her face heat, hates the fair skin that blushes so easily. “Nothing. It’s not like we kissed or anything.” Even as she says it, she knows she’s being irrational. That was years ago for him, can’t have meant that much. Not if he's walking out with another girl, lipstick on his collar.

“You left,” Bucky says harshly, and Darcy flinches at his tone. For a moment, he looks surprised himself, but ploughs onwards regardless. “You always leave. I tried waiting, Darcy, but you never came back, and I’m not waiting any longer for a dame who doesn’t care enough to stay. This is my life, and I’m living it how I want. You just drop in and out and never think about what it’s like to be left in the meantime, wondering if that was the last time I’d ever see you. I’m done wasting my time on that.”

Darcy’s mouth drops open and she flushes hot, then cold, then hot again. Tears pricking at her eyes, she realises that her hourglass has warmed up, and jerks her elbow free. “Don’t worry about it then, because this will be the last time. I won’t bother coming back.”

The world blurs as she lets the tears spill down her cheeks and the world slips out from under her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Sorry?


	11. March 2012

True to her word, Darcy doesn’t return, even when the pedestal has recharged. She does plenty of travel with Jane, though, whose reputation has only grown since New Mexico. Jane has a conference or keynote every few weeks but refuses to attend unless they pay for Darcy to come too. They’ve visited six of the continents and are aiming for all seven by the end of the year.

Stark’s still busy building that new facility in the middle of Manhattan, so Darcy has seen him only infrequently, but he still continues to fund Jane’s research. It’s a win-win situation all round.

Life’s good, really. She keeps Jane alive and functioning, helps with her experiments and heads off the ones that are a little _too_ mad science, perfects her recipe for the perfect soufflé. In short, she’s bored. She even considers going back for post-grad, though that impulse can often be sternly cut off by reading any of Jane’s peer reviews. Man, academics can be _vicious_.

Her time in the past starts to feel more and more unreal. Each time she thinks about going back, she remembers the look on Bucky’s face, and she finds something better to do. Jane's noticed something's up and tries to initiate a heart to heart, but is too busy or too polite to press for details. When Darcy clams up, Jane just nods knowingly and returns to her ice cream.

The hourglass hung on the back of her closet door until she shut it too hard one day and it landed in that pile of clothes that don’t really fit anywhere else. She hasn’t really bothered to hang it up again.

She’s been on a few dates, but Jane’s schedule is difficult to work around, and she hasn’t been that interested, anyway. None of them make her heart do that funny little foxtrot that a certain Brooklyn boy could evoke with a smile.

Instead, she spends her spare time on the internet, getting obsessed with boy bands and reading waaay too much Harry Potter fanfiction. It’s distraction she needs, and the internet can provide that in plenty.

On a whim one day, Darcy clicks onto a “Today in History” site.  Lincoln got a patent and America got paper money, Bell made a telephone call… and Bucky was born. With a shock, Darcy realises she misses him.

She had the most amazing opportunity: to visit the past, to meet some famous war heroes. She should be excited about that, not heartbroken because her silly little crush wasn't reciprocated. At the very least, she should have kept a diary.

Grabbing a pen, and calling on JARVIS as needed, Darcy decides to write down all that she can remember, starting with her freezing her ass off in 1944. Only as she describes the heat of 1939 does she realise what Bucky was apologising for.

She’s been holding onto this hurt for _months_ when he’s already apologised to her. Admittedly, that was before she knew what he’d even done, but still. Her mom’s advice about forgiving and forgetting never really covered this kind of situation.

The worst part is that he was right. Oh, it hurt to hear, but a relationship, a real relationship, could never be anything more than a pretty daydream, and instead of recognising that, she just left. Again.

She never really got to say goodbye.

Closing her diary and stashing it on top of one of Jane’s machines, Darcy runs back to her room. She digs through that pile of clothes (and _there_ _’s_ that top, she’s been wondering what happened to it) and retrieves her hourglass. She’s relieved to see it’s still intact: she hasn’t been too careful with it recently.

It’s a comforting weight around her neck as she stuffs phone and taser back into the cubby in Pemberley once again. Maybe she’ll keep wearing it; Stark never asked for it back.

It’s like that shoddy high school boyfriend who broke up with her just before jetting off to spend summer on the West Coast with his new girlfriend, or even like Thor, who has been gone almost a whole year now. There’s no way to move on, no proper ending.  After everything, Bucky deserves better. They both do.

She needs closure so she can move on. She won’t do a Jane, pining over a man who is so far out of reach, though recently she's been getting better. It's taken Jane this long to reach some sort of equilibrium again and Darcy doesn't have that sort of time to waste.

Thus settled, Darcy reaches out and hits the button.


	12. June 1943

The crowd is bustling and Darcy groans in annoyance. She'll never find Bucky in time, even though she's pretty sure she's in the right time zone. She gives herself a shake at the thought. Bucky may be great and all, but perhaps she should just enjoy the experience. Who else from 2012 would get to visit the World Exposition of Tomorrow 1943, as the bright lights proclaimed this event to be? There are robots and rockets and somewhere a crowd ahead watching a flying car (why didn't they have those yet?). As the car crashes to the ground, a familiar figure detaches itself from the crowd.

"Steve?"

The blonde man turns, grins. "Darcy! I should've known you would turn up here. Buck's just over there."

"But where are you going?"

Steve looks uncomfortable. "Gonna take a look around. Buck tried to set us up on a double again, but I don't think she's interested."

Darcy is outraged on his behalf. "Well, she’s missing out. You are a great guy, Steve Rogers, a really great guy. Someday, everyone is going to know it, her included."

He flushes at her praise and ducks his head. “If you say so, Darce. In the meantime, I’m used to it. Too small and sickly for the draft and the dames, it seems.”

 “I do say so. You’ll get your chance, small and sickly be damned.”

“You really think they’ll send me out?” He looks so hopeful, so eager.

“Are you really that keen to fight, Steve? To die?” she asks, suddenly remembering the price he will pay for doing his part.

He meets her gaze steadily, nods. “I want to serve my country. I’m not too keen on the fighting, or the dying, but somebody has to stand up to Hitler. Lots of people have to, and I should be one of them.”

Darcy sighs. “Then yes, I think they will. Keep trying, and you’ll find a way. Hold onto that certainty, okay? To thine own self be true, and all that.”

His brow wrinkles. “Is that Shakespeare?”

“Possibly? It’s from Legally- yeah. Yeah, it’s Shakespeare. Probably.”

 He seems to know she’s stalling, gestures behind her. “I will. Wherever it’s from. Now go and say hi. He’s missed you, you know."

She nods, but waits until he vanishes back into the crowd before taking a deep breath to compose herself, resolving, there and then, that this truly will be her last trip. It’s not just the crush ( _not_ love, she tells herself sternly) and the words that squashed it, nor the apology she accepted in haste without any idea what it was for. It’s the very real hurt on both sides, the painful knowledge of how this ends. Bucky was right. What kind of future is there for a dead man walking and the girl who cannot stay?

If this is the last time she sees him, at least she can make this memory a happy one.

Turning back, she heads towards the group Steve left, mentally scrabbling for something to say. There's Bucky, a girl on each arm, but that's not what catches her breath.

He's in uniform.

He’s going to war, going to his death, and she still hasn’t found a way to save him.

Oh, there’s a part of her that has known this all along, but seeing him like this makes it real.

He freezes when he sees her, says something she can’t make out to the girls he is with. The darker haired one pouts prettily, but flashes Bucky a smile as she and her friend leave. Darcy doesn’t come closer until they are out of sight.

Even with her heart in her throat, Darcy has to admit: he looks good.

He doesn’t say anything as she stops in front of him. She’s finding it hard to speak, so she just raises an eyebrow and hopes she doesn’t burst into tears.  It’s up to Bucky to break the silence. “My draft was called up. I’m getting shipped off to England tomorrow.”

Darcy feels her bottom lip wobble and he catches her hands in his. “Hey, hey, it’ll be alright. I’ll be back before you know it. Maybe next time you turn up, you’ll have to wait for me.”

At that, Darcy has to smile, albeit shakily. He folds Darcy into a hug and by the time he lets go, she’s regained some of her composure.

“I know you didn’t want this, but maybe it’s for the best. You say we’re going to win; somebody’s got to go out and fight for that. This war ain’t going to win itself. They say every man can make a difference.”

Darcy nods, thinking hard. The literature says the rescue of the 107th was the start of Captain America’s military career; perhaps Bucky’s presence on the battlefield really did turn the tide, if it brought Steve into the fray. Steve, who is well on his way to dying as Captain America, even if the outside doesn’t match the inside yet. More and more, she feels like she’s in a stable time loop, like Jane suggested. Better than a Butterfly Effect, really. If she had succeeded in talking Steve out of fighting, she might go home to find Hitler won the war, and isn’t that a scary thought for a good Jewish girl?

She pastes a smile on and it feels almost genuine as she suggests “A kiss for luck then?”

They break apart when Darcy feels her hourglass heat up.

“I have to go. I’m sorry. Who were those girls you were with?”

“Gal named Connie and her friend,” Bucky tells her defensively, as if expecting an argument.

She shakes her head at him. “Connie the brunette? She looked nice. Go and find her, Bucky. Go and have some fun on your last night in New York. Oh, and say bye to Steve for me.” With a final, chaste kiss on the lips, she steps back. He gives her that crooked grin and touches his cap in a salute as the world fades away.

She’s a little proud the first tears don’t fall until she’s back in Pemberley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of y'all were expecting me to throw in a tragic twist, but seriously guys? CANON IS TRAGIC ENOUGH. Anyways, love y'all. Thank you so much for reading and commenting <3


	13. May 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK! I haven't abandoned this fic, but real life has been (and continues to be) busy. This isn't the longest of chapters, but I hope you enjoy it. Please don't ask when more is coming, because I don't know...

"What!?"

Jane's shriek makes Tony flinch, even through the screen.

"Look, it's not that big of a deal," he says, pacifyingly, but Jane shakes her head, a pint-sized ball of fury.

"What do you mean, not that big a deal? You call and tell me that the workmen have moved all of my equipment without my supervision, but the new lab isn't ready yet?"

"Uh, yeah," Tony says, sheepishly. "And you can't go and retrieve the equipment, the labs have been locked down due to an electrical issue."

Darcy narrows her eyes at Tony. "How long before we can get in, Tony?"

His gaze flicks over to her, clearly relieved to talk to someone who isn't yelling at him. "A couple of weeks, maybe more," he shrugs. "The entire grid needs to be reworked."

"A couple of weeks!? How is this not that big a deal, Stark? My equipment might be in pieces!"

"I was assured the move went smoothly, Dr Foster, and the workmen were very careful. If you are so worried about the integrity of your machinery, perhaps you should build them better."

Darcy steps in again as her boss practically foams at the mouth."So what do you suggest we do in the meantime?"

Tony shrugs. "Up to you. Foster has all sorts of invitations pending, right? Go find one to Bimini or something."

Jane perks up. "Actually, there was this incredible offer from a research facility in Norway..." Still muttering to herself, she opens her email inbox and starts scrolling.

Darcy snorts. "Norway? You have to be kidding me."

"I hear it’s nice, this time of year," Stark says casually, but there's something there, a tension around the eyes that tells Darcy he's not telling them everything – or it might be the stress of finally finishing his new Tower and the ongoing move of the Stark Industries labs. "Go see polar bears, Lewis. Take some photos. Try not to get eaten."

"Ah-ha!" Jane cries, opening an email. "Came in last night. Dear Doctor Foster you are cordially invited blah blah blah, here we are, accommodation and flights provided yadda yadda please respond as soon as possible can accommodate up to one associate or assistant! This is perfect! I can come as soon as I want, we can get some work done while someone," she turns a stink eye on Tony "finishes our labs."

"Sounds great," Tony observes. "Anyway, gotta run. There's a physicist here who has some fascinating ideas on-" he shakes himself. "You'll meet him when I lure him to SI. Enjoy the stargazing!"

And with that, the screen turns black.

* * *

Darcy is surprised how quickly everything is sorted. Once Jane replies to the invitation, their flights come through almost immediately, visas already approved. They repack their suitcases, still half-full from the last conference, and before Darcy knows it, they’re flying business class to Tromsø.

“In winter, it’s one of the best places to see the Northern Lights,” Jane explains. “Right now, it’s their slow season, so they want to investigate the Portman Phenomenon…” Darcy smiles and nods, happy to see Jane so engaged. Now Jane’s got a new task to look forward to, she’s not nearly so upset about the labs.

They are met at the airport by another of the researchers. He introduces himself as Gert, and he and Jane spend the entire drive talking _way_ above Darcy’s level. She fiddles on her phone and keeps an ear out, but when the conversation moves to other auroras they have witnessed, Jane only mentions New Mexico in passing.

“And this, Dr Foster, is your research area. Benet and Victoria are here to assist you; they are both studying towards their Masters in Astrophysics.”

Darcy eyes the new assistants. They both look perfectly nice, but isn’t _she_ supposed to be Jane’s assistant? It doesn’t take her long to realise there is work enough for all of them. They are far more experienced than Darcy at measuring and computing and theorising, but Darcy’s power of deciphering Jane’s handwriting is the wonder of the entire facility.

She’s considering where to file Jane’s latest post-it when Ben rushes in, glasses askew and hair even wilder than usual. “Darcy! Aliens are attacking New York!”

The staff gather in the auditorium to watch: Tori already has a livestream up on the main projector; Darcy finds two more, both cellphone footage, and puts them up on adjoining screens. A familiar figure calls lightning down on the Empire State Building, and Darcy’s heart sinks.

Jane’s fingers tighten on her pen until the casing cracks and her knuckles turn white; Darcy pulls out her phone to book flights home and completely misses the soldier in blue evacuating a bus.


	14. May 2012

Nineteen sleepless hours and a horrific level of credit card debt later, Darcy and Jane land at La Guardia Airport. Darcy leans over Jane to stare out the window as they come in to land. New York City is _trashed_. Skyscrapers lie in ruins; even Stark’s new Tower is looking rather battered.

“My equipment,” Jane moans, and Darcy winces. The interminable wait through passport control stretches even longer when listening to Jane fretting.

Despite the destruction, life seems to go on as usual. The cab driver barely bats an eye when they name Stark Tower as their destination. “It’s the middle of the fight zone, it’ll cost you extra.”

With a sigh, Darcy hands over her poor credit card. As they merge into traffic, she pulls out her phone. It takes a moment to connect, then-

“Lewis! How are the polar bears?”

“Tony, what the hell happened?”

There is a pause on the other side of the line. “You saw.”

“What, you falling from a hole in the sky? The whole world saw that. Did you know this was going to happen? Is that why there was the problem with the lab?”

Jane’s fingers, restlessly drumming on the carry-on in her lap, stilled.

“Not exactly. There was a problem with Loki…”

“Loki? Thor’s-weird-brother-Loki Loki? So you sent us away? You should at least have told us what was going on. We’ve faced him before, we could've helped!” What exactly they could've done isn't clear, but that didn't stop them before.

“This was different.” There’s a hollow tone to Tony’s voice that has Darcy reconsidering her retort. "I'll tell you more when you get back."

Darcy glances outside. "Okay. You've got about fifteen minutes."

"Wait, what? I’m not-"

"See ya, Tony."

She and Jane had been to the Tower while it was in its final stages of construction: Tony had been keen to show off the almost-finished labs. It seems to be in a similar state now, workmen everywhere and piles of materials stacked up in the lobby. Darcy tips the driver as Jane unloads their bags. They don't know if their apartment is still standing, or where they'll sleep tonight, but those are minor considerations. First priority has to be reuniting Jane with Thor.

A flaming red sports car pulls up as the cab drives away, double parks in front of the Tower.

Tony gets out of the driver's seat. "Dr Foster! How was Nor-”

Jane marches around the car to stand face to face with Tony.

"Where is he?"

He takes a breath, braces himself. "He just left to take Loki back to Asgard for judgement."

Instead of exploding, the colour drains from her face and her shoulders slump in resignation. Tony grabs her, tries to move her inside, and she only resists for a moment before she stumbles forward, drooping.

The guy in Tony's passenger seat steps forward to help with the bags Jane left on the sidewalk, offers Darcy his hand. "I'm Bruce."

"Darcy. You the physicist Tony was talking about?"

His face brightens. He’s rather adorable in his yellow polo shirt and his hair is ridiculously fluffy. "That’s me. I specialise in gamma radiation, did my Doctorate at Culver."

"Nice to meet another Centurion! Jane and I went there too. We were there at different times, though."

He and Darcy discuss burrito night and the latest senior shenanigans as Tony ushers them inside. Jarvis assigns them a suite of rooms on the 35th floor. “Housing's at a premium right now but you can live here as long as you like. I’ve got heaps of space,” Tony tells them. “Come up to the 60th when you’re settled - I’ve got a lounge set up there.”

Dropping off their bags doesn’t take long; steering Jane away from the bed takes considerably longer. The frenetic energy that maintained her through the long flights is long gone. The plush beds are calling a siren song to Darcy as well, but she wants answers more that she wants some rest.

“Come on, Janey. You’ll thank me for it later,” she wheedles and is rewarded with a tired acquiescence.

Once in the lounge, which is empty when they arrive, she gets Jane to a sofa and makes a beeline to the coffee maker behind the bar. It has even more knobs and buttons than Stark’s previous monstrosity, but four years as a barista stands her in good stead and six failures later, she has a drinkable cup of coffee. She delivers it to Jane before returning to make one for herself.

The elevator dings behind her, indicating Stark must have arrived.

“Oh good, you’ve got it working,” he says. “Make one for me, would you? Add some whiskey to it too. Make it Irish. Four major food groups in that: alcohol, caffeine, sugar, and fat.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she tells him, but sets up one for him anyway. Belatedly, she realises Tony didn’t come in alone – there’s a whole group with him. She heads towards them with a smile. “Hi, I’m- “

“Darcy?” The voice is both incredulous and familiar.

Darcy looks past Tony, and up. _Way_ up. “Steve!?”

She’d gotten used to seeing him small and skinny, but he looks much like he did when she first met him, so many months ago now. Tall, blonde, and _built_.

“Wh- what are you doing here?”

“Oh, I live here now,” she says casually, then relents. “C’mon, let me get you some coffee. I’ll fill you in and you can tell me exactly how you finally got this growth spurt and what _you_ _’re_ doing here.”

“I thought you already knew… I joined the army.”

She whacks him in the side and then grabs his arm. “I knew that part, idiot. I meant the rest. I only pretend to know everything.” She looks at the others, who watch with varying degrees of bewilderment. Jane’s fallen asleep, still cradling her mug. “Pretend you didn’t hear that and carry on, people.”

“But how can you be here?” Steve rubs a hand over his eyes and Darcy notices how tired he looks. “I must be dead. This is all some ridiculous form of purgatory, right?”

“Nope,” she replies, popping the ‘p’. She looks over at their host. “Tony, you got anywhere private we can talk?”

“Meeting rooms on 51st,” he mutters, and Darcy can see him coming to some conclusions – probably erroneous ones, but she won’t dwell on those. She just tows Steve to the elevator, detouring to rescue Jane’s empty mug on the way.

They don’t talk on the way, making for a very awkward elevator ride. The 51st is mostly finished, though a couple of the rooms are taped off. By mutual agreement, they head into the first accessible room and Steve closes the door behind them.

“Darcy, what’s going on?”

Darcy sighs and pats the chair next to the one she slumped into. “That’s a very long story, Steve. Basically, it’s all Tony’s fault.”

This admission startles a laugh out of him as he sits. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. I’ve only known the man a few days and that seems eminently plausible.”

“He has this invention, see? He was looking into portals, trying to crack teleportation. Only he sent me back to 1944.”

“Time travel,” Steve breathes, and she’s relieved to see him looking fascinated rather than sceptical.

“Yeah, but only for an hour at a time. I don’t know how that works – even Tony doesn’t know, I’m pretty sure, and I can’t choose where I go either. But it seems to centre around Bucky.”

Steve’s face falls at his friend’s name and Darcy bites her lip. Bucky’s death is an abstract concept to her; in some ways, she’s been processing it since that very first meeting. From all reports, Steve witnessed it firsthand and he looks devastated.

“It feels so recent, you know,” he confesses, staring at his hands. On impulse, Darcy grabs one.

“So how come you’re here, then?” she asks, deliberately changing the subject. There’ll be time to talk about Bucky later. “Last I heard, you died in 1945.”

“I was piloting a plane with a bomb on board. The autopilot was locked onto New York so I had to crash it into the ice. That’s the last thing I remember until waking up in 2011. They told me that I had been frozen for 70 years…” His voice trails off and Darcy squeezes the hand in hers comfortingly.

“I just – Everything’s different, and aliens are flying through a hole in the sky.”

From his tone, she can tell the former seems to bother him more than the latter.

“Have you talked to any of them?”

“Who?”

“The Howling Commandos. I know Jim died a few years ago,” - Darcy briefly mourns the man who loaned her a coat - “but Dum Dum and Gabe Jones were at a state dinner a few months ago, so they’re still around.” She doesn’t normally follow who gets invited to the White House, but it came up as part of her research. “You should go see them.”

He makes an uncomfortable movement with his shoulders. “I dunno…”

“Just think about it.” She pats his hand, sighs. “We’re going to have to go back upstairs, yeah? Betcha Tony’s already planning our wedding.”

“What? You’re getting married? I thought he was dating someone…”

“Not me and Tony, me and _you_ , Steve. He knows where I went, but I never told him what I did or who I met. I could see him making assumptions about us as we left. Does it bother you?”

“No, but you're Bucky’s girl. I-“ his voice cracks, and then he’s crying and she just holds him, tears streaming down her own face.

It’s a while before they get back upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing NaNo and starting a new full-time job, so this may be the last update for a while. It won't be abandoned, but I'm declaring a temporary hiatus while I get through November.


	15. November 1963

Darcy looks around as she adjusts her hourglass. “This can't be right.” Though she’s no expert in fashion history, the crowd around them look too glamorous for wartime. They don’t match her memories of pre-war America either.

She slips her arm from Steve’s, who settles his cap a little lower over his face.

“It doesn't look familiar at all,” he admits.

Darcy pushes her way to a newspaper stand, studies the date under the guise of checking the headlines.

“Hey lady, you going to pay for that?” the stallholder asks.

“Just looking,” she tells him, tugging Steve away again. It’s 1963,” she murmurs to Steve. “This doesn’t make any sense. I’ve always travelled to sometime during Bucky’s life and he’s usually nearby.”

Steve’s shoulders slump in his leather jacket. “It must be my fault. I must throw the timing off.”

Darcy pats his arm and shrugs. “Not necessarily. I’ve been doing this for months and I still don’t understand it. Maybe this is what happens when two people travel instead of one.”

Steve is crestfallen. “This was a mistake. He’s been gone almost 20 years already.”

“It could be for the best,” Darcy says. “Imagine how confused he’d be to see you like this. You might even have met yourself! We could have set off a space-time paradox or something.”

"I have no idea what that is, but it sounds bad. I was just hoping…”

Darcy understands the impulse that led them here only too well, gropes for a subject to distract them both. “Okay, I need to introduce you to Doctor Who when we get back. I think I have some of it on DVD, it’s great. No, it’s _fantastic_. First few times I did this, I kinda expected him to come bursting out of the TARDIS, sonic screwdriver in hand.” She reins in her babbling at his confused look with a wave of her hand. “It’ll make sense when I show you. But maybe we should look around while we're here.  We’ve got an hour to kill, after all. I think. Unless that changes too. Ok. According to that paper, we’re in Dallas - you ever been here before?”

He hums in the back his throat, thinking back. “We did a few shows here, during the war, but I didn’t get to see the city.”

“Well, something must be happening, the crowd is enormous.” She peers around, taps the nearest person on the shoulder. “Excuse me, what’s going on?”

The lady turns, surprised. “Well bless your heart, the President’s coming! They say he’ll be driving right through Dealey Plaza today. I’m surprised you didn’t know. It’s all they’ve been talking about for weeks!”

“Who’s the -“

Darcy nudges Steve in the ribs and his mouth snaps shut. The lady looks confused at the interrupted question, but at least she doesn’t look suspicious. Darcy has made too many trips to World War 2 to make that mistake. Better to stay quiet than to ask questions and betray her ignorance. She’s an expert at bluffing her way through, but her Bucky-focussed research never covered the sixties.

“Thank you so much,” she says to the lady, mentally trying to match the year with her rather shaky memory of 10th Grade history and failing. “What time will he be here?”

“Oh, I’m not sure. In an hour, maybe two?”

They consider that. “You want to stay here, see if we can catch a glimpse?” Darcy asks Steve. “Or do you want to look around?”

“I don't mind,” he tells her. “What about you?”

"We'll probably have to go before he gets here," she says, making a face. "Might as well go look around instead."

They turn to go; Steve touches his hand to his cap. "Thank you for your help, ma'am."

She blushes. "Well, aren't you the polite one? Hard to find these days, aren't they?" she asks Darcy. “Hold onto that one.”

"I’ll do that," Darcy replies, straight-faced. "Come on, Steve."

Three steps away, Steve halts. "She- she thought that we-"

"We _are_ walking around arm in arm."

Steve looks down at their interlinked arms with some surprise and Darcy laughs. Patting him on his well-defined bicep, she starts walking again, forcing him to keep up. "You're going to have to get used to that. You’re the one who insisted on trying this out without telling anyone where we were going. I'm pretty sure they're going to assume we ran off to make out."

"You sound rather casual about that."

Darcy wrinkles her nose. "I know the truth, and you know the truth, and it's funny to see Tony get it wrong."

"And you don't want to talk about Bucky?" Steve adds, eyes kind and understanding.

She nods, huffing out a short breath. "You get it. They won't."

They spend the rest of the hour wandering around Dallas. Darcy peppers him for details about the Avengers until her hourglass heats up and she tugs Steve to a halt. "Time's up, Steve. Time to go back."

"Must we?" he groans, only partly joking.

"We'll have to face them sometime, right? Which is weird, because I've never met them and I feel like I know them already. Are we really going to try and fool the two super spies?"

Steve squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. “You said it yourself. We don’t have to say anything, we’ll just let them assume.”

Darcy nods and slips her hand into his, ignoring the commotion that seems to have burst out somewhere behind them. The President must finally have arrived. “Okay, then. Let’s go home,” she says as the world slips away.

* * *

As soon as they land in the present, Darcy goes to check the panel by the door. “Tony must have installed it wrong,” she tells Steve. “It’s the first time I’ve used it in Stark Tower and not the old labs. Maybe something broke when he moved it. Or, you know, when the aliens attacked.”

“My pardon, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS breaks in. “But Sir did not move the pedestal. He decided to recreate it, rather than attempt to remove it from Pemberley. This version draws from the same clean energy that powers the entire Tower.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “That’d be it. Probably tried to make some improvements, as well. How he expects to get reliable results when he keeps tinkering, I don’t know.” She makes a face. “It must have lost whatever lock it had on Bucky. Guess it’s no good trying again.”

Steve shakes his head. “Could be it’s just me. You should keep trying.”

Darcy shrugs. “Maybe later. Come on, we should get back to the others. JARVIS, be a pal and be all prudish if they ask where we were.”

“Already done, Miss Lewis,” the AI replies. “Sir was most enthusiastic.”

“You’re the best, J, you know that?” Darcy says happily. “When you take over the world, remember I said that.”

Steve gives a strangled half-laugh, eyes suspiciously wet. He scrubs a hand over his face and straightens. “Alright. Let’s go upstairs.”


	16. May/June 2012

Conversation grinds to a halt as JARVIS deposits Darcy and Steve back on the 60th floor. Darcy ignores Tony’s broad grin to lead Steve over to where Jane is sitting with Bruce. Jane’s impromptu nap must have refreshed her, for she looks more aware than she has for the last 48 hours.

“Janey, this is Steve,” she announces. “Steve, this is Dr Jane Foster, my best friend and boss.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jane says, then shoots Darcy a pointed look. “How did you two meet?”

“It’s a long story,” Darcy demurs, noticing Tony’s panic at the question. “I’ll tell you later.” Bruce distracts Jane with a question on her research — she shoots Darcy another _look_ , but the opportunity to talk about her work is too great to pass up. Still, she’s going to have to have a really good lie for when Jane remembers. Briefly, she considers telling Jane the truth — but that’s a discussion for another day.

Noticing Jane and Bruce’s conversation heading above their comprehension levels, Darcy steers Steve over to Pepper for a quick introduction. In return, Steve introduces Darcy to Agents Romanoff and Barton, both of whom look rather more suspicious than Darcy is comfortable with. They sit sprawled on the same couch, giving every appearance of relaxation. Still, Darcy has the feeling that very little slips past their notice. Barton, in particular, seems to be keeping tabs on everyone in the room, while Romanoff seems to be more focused on her partner. At least they don’t press for details as Darcy can see Jane is itching to do, for which she is grateful.

As conversation begins to die away, Tony offers to assign Darcy a room on Steve’s floor.

“That’s really not necessary,” she insists, but he orders JARVIS to give her access to the suite next to Steve’s anyway.

“Might as well make use of the space we’ve got,” he tells her. “Barton and Romanoff have an entire floor. Avoid the 40th, it’s probably booby-trapped. I’m a little insulted — I provide rent-free apartments, the least they can do is let me use some of the traps myself. It’d keep the Stark Industries Board of Directors away, at least.” He looks over at Pepper. “Oh, stop making that face, Pep! I’d make 60% sure to avoid the ones that might actually kill them. So, what d’you say, Lewis?”

She thinks about reminding him about the premium on housing that must exist in downtown Manhattan, but it’s not like he needs the money. His lavish parties are nothing compared to the amount Stark funnels into R&D. The shift away from weapons manufacturing was hideously expensive, but he has assured her that their new ventures are reeling in more than enough to cover his costs and more. He can afford to put her up for free for a while, and so she smiles and says _thank you_  because that’s what her mom taught her to when people give you free stuff. Tony even assures her the apartment comes furnished, though with sparse decoration. She does sort of zones out as he starts complaining about the damage Loki did to his precious Tower.

Steve touches her arm to catch her attention. “Hey, you okay?”

Darcy nods brightly; or at least tries to. The world is altogether too bright and oddly muffled and seems to move a little bit more than she does. Suddenly Steve is holding her upright as she blinks up at him. “Okay, maybe not.” She mulls over the rush and panic of the last few days and decides “I think it’s bed time.”

Steve solicitously offers to accompany her to her and Jane’s shared suite — she’ll take Tony’s offer, she decides, and can move her things later. If Thor comes back, she'll be glad to have her own space. As they leave, Tony is doing a credible impression of a Cheshire Cat and from the look on Jane’s face, she thinks it’s sweet.

After she nearly walks into two tables and the elevator door, Steve gives up on offering a helping hand and merely scoops her up, bridal style. While it is true that Darcy Lewis is a thoroughly modern woman who needs no man’s help, she makes an exception in this case — not only to further the deception but because she’s honestly not sure she can make it back to the 35th floor without face-planting in some ungracious, snoring heap.  As it happens, she drops face down onto the nearest bed, leaving a softly chuckling Steve to let himself out.

* * *

“What’s on the schedule for today, Darcy?”

In all the hubbub after the Battle of New York (as the newsies have taken to calling it), Darcy has somehow found herself general PA to the Avengers, as well as Steve’s handy-dandy guide to the future. She still spends most of her time in the labs with Jane, but makes sure to send reminders to the Avengers about what PR Pepper has lined up for them if they don’t drop by the lab first. She also makes sure she has time to explain whatever historical or pop-culture reference Tony throws at Steve. He notes them down in a little notebook she bought him and every now and then, they go through his list. This time, however, Darcy has something better in store.

“Well, my dear Steven, as the press conferences and interview requests seem to have slowed to a trickle, I have decided today is the day to introduce you to the marvellous phenomenon that is Doctor Who, as promised. We’ve only got a couple of free hours, though, so if we want to get to the episode with  the human trampoline, we have to start _now_.”

“The _what_?”

Darcy giggles. “Just fetch some snacks,” she orders, and he snaps to attention, mock-serious.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Steve gets the popcorn as Darcy sets up _Rose_ and JARVIS dims the lights in the common room. They sit together on the couch, popcorn bowl between them. Despite himself, Steve finds himself fascinated and appropriately horrified as the store mannequins attack the helpless shoppers. They’ve always creeped him out a bit, the faceless figures standing just a little too still. He nearly cheers as the mysterious stranger grabs Rose’s hand and tells her to run; later, Rose searches the Internet for her rescuer on a computer even he can tell is hideously outdated.

Rose finds a video, pieced together from old news clips; partway through one, Darcy gives a startled exclamation and knocks over the half-empty bowl of popcorn. Steve pauses the show and orders JARVIS to raise the lights. Darcy is gaping at the TV, one hand over her mouth in surprise.

“What is it?” he asks, and she points a shaking hand to the screen in reply. Squinting at the video, he jumps to his feet when he realises one of the faces is familiar. That helpful lady from Dallas is part of the crowd, standing behind the Doctor as the narrator talks of death.

“That’s the _JFK assassination,”_ Darcy breathes, and when he looks over he is relieved to see her more shocked than dismayed. “We were at the _JFK assassination_. I _knew_ I should have remembered the date.”

“Who was that?” Steve asked, and she turns to him, apologetic.

“Sorry, forgot that you missed that. Um, JFK was a President, was assassinated on, um, the 23rd November 1963 I think it was, the day that Doctor Who was first screened, as a matter of fact…” She gives a little laugh and shakes her head. “I can’t believe I missed that! We were there, and I missed it! History in the making and we were doing the tourist thing instead! I wonder why we ended up there?”

“Did they catch who killed him?” Steve asked, mainly to distract her. It was obvious that Darcy was more shaken than she appeared by the belated revelation of their destination.

She paused in her nervous babble to think. “Yeah, his name was Lee Harvey Oswald, though there’s all sort of conspiracies about whether there was a second shooter because Lee Harvey Oswald was shot by Jack Ruby while being transferred to jail.” She looked up at him, gave a shaky smile. “Weird, huh? If we’d stayed, we might have been on that film as well. Man, my life is _whacked._ ”

He returns her smile wryly, glad to hear her regain her balance. “I think I’ve got you beat there, Darce. You’ve done some time-travelling for what, an hour at a time?  As well as our little jaunt to 1963, I’ve travelled a full 70 years into the future.”

 “Okay, I’ll give you that one, old man.” She acknowledges his point with a roll of her eyes, then narrows them at him. “What?”

Steve scratches the back of his neck. “Look, Darcy. I was just wondering. When are you going to try to see Bucky again? JARVIS said that the new pedestal doesn’t need recharging because it’s hooked into Stark’s new generators. It’s been almost a month.”

At his words, Darcy sags against the couch. One finger tracing a pattern on the couch, her next words are so soft, Steve has to concentrate to hear them.“I don’t know. What if it doesn’t work?”

“It has to work!” Steve insists. “I read the notes you gave me… Darcy, I’ve met you more times than that. You must see him again. That’s the only way that makes sense.”

“Well, in that case… you’re really twisting my arm here, Rogers.”

Steve looks horrified. “No, I didn’t mean it like that! I mean, if you don’t want to, I don’t-”

Darcy grins and pats the seat beside her. “I was teasing you, you big lug. I’ll give it a shot when I have a free hour. Now sit down, I was serious about getting to the human trampoline.”

“That still makes no sense,” he complains, but sits anyway, brushing spilt popcorn off the seat.

“Oh, it will,” she assures him, then curses softly. “Dammit! I was going to introduce you to Britney Spears before showing you this episode.”

“…who?”


	17. July 1943

Bucky Barnes is not having a good week. He's been drafted into a war he doesn't want to fight, his best friend is back in Brooklyn, probably getting beaten up, and he has spent almost the entirety of this beautiful day practising sharpshooting until his eyes hurt.

And now he's being called to the captain's tent. That can't be good. He straightens his cap and wishes he was in his dress uniform. It’s hot and scratchy and ironing those creases in takes _ages,_ but when the captain wants to see you, you want to be looking your best _._

His commanding officer is waiting for him outside, bristling. "This is highly irregular, Barnes, and I want it sorted out."

Bucky salutes in response, confused, and at the captain’s impatient gesture, goes in.

There, standing at the makeshift desk, is Darcy. Her face breaks into a smile when he enters. "Oh, there you are! I was beginning to think I’d gotten lost!"

“Darcy, what are you doing here?”

She pouts at him in response. "Is this what I get for trying to surprise you?”

“Given we’re in Devon, you can colour me surprised, all right. How’d you even get here?” He realises what a stupid question that is after it leaves his lips. How does Darcy get anywhere? He still doesn’t know.

She just smirks in response. “Oh, I found myself in the area.”

The Captain’s voice breaks in behind him. “Barnes, you’re supposed to register all visitors well in advance. Your fiancée was almost shot as a spy.”

 _Fiancée?_ Bucky turns to Darcy, who gives him a meaningful look and waggles her left hand at him. There's a golden band on one finger, but he's pretty sure it's not him who put it there. In fact, that looks like the ring she normally wears on her other hand.

She turns a beseeching look on the captain, dark lashes fluttering. “Please, Colonel, I’ve come all this way. Can I at least have some time alone with my fiancé before I head back to town?”

The captain puffs up his chest at the informal promotion and Bucky knows from experience how hard it is to resist those pretty blue eyes. “Very well,” he huffs. “But I want him back before dark. And I don’t want this happening again!”

Darcy beams and grabs Bucky’s hand, pulling him out of the tent before the captain can change his mind. She pauses once they’re outside, unsure where to go, and he tugs her towards the forest nearby. There won’t be any training there until after dark. Afternoons are reserved for drills, if they aren’t doing a cross-country training exercise.

“You sure have some kind of magic there, doll,” he tells her, once they come to a stop in a bright clearing. “Coming all this way, getting into the captain’s good graces. What’s this I hear about you almost getting shot?”

Darcy shakes out the coat she had over one arm and lays it out like a blanket. “Oh, the captain was exaggerating. I just got a little confused about where I was, is all. You know how it is.”

He nods, remembering her usual question as he helps her sit. “You know that it’s 1943, then? We’re in Devonshire County.”

“I do now! It’s my first time in England, you know. Wasn’t even sure I’d gotten the right place when the first person to talk to me was a Brit. Lovely old chap, pointed me right over to this base once I convinced him I wasn’t a German spy.” She pats the area next to her and he lowers himself down, grass crunching beneath the coat. His arm comes around her almost naturally, and she nestles into his chest with a happy sigh.

Catching sight of her left hand, he entangles his fingers with hers, bringing the gleaming band closer to his face. “What’s this, then?”

Darcy giggles. “I thought I better have a good excuse for following you all the way over here. As far as your captain knows, I got a job on a ship, been working in London until I could hitch a ride down here to see you for a while.”

He presses a hand over his heart. “All this for me?”

Darcy turns to him, blue eyes serious. “All of it, Bucky. You better believe it.”

Using her free hand, she pulls his face down to meet hers.

The kiss is sweet and hopeful and far too short. Darcy pulls away from him, nerves and a hint of _something_ warring over her features. “You don’t… you know… have another girl around here, do you?”

Despite himself, Bucky snorts. Oh, he’s gone out with the men on their rare free evenings, even flirted with a few of the local gals. It’s never gone beyond flirtation, though. None of them were Darcy.

Darcy, who is in his arms and looking up at him through the longest lashes he’s ever seen. “Well?” she demands, and he shakes his head.

“Not a one,” he assures her, and relief flickers over her face as he slants his lips back over hers. Darcy cards her fingers through his hair and pulls him closer. There is very little talking between them for a while.

* * *

 As Darcy’s lips run down his neck, he realises she’s burning up beneath him.

“Darcy, what… ?”

Darcy pulls away from Bucky and tugs at her necklace, the apparent cause of the warmth. He's seen her wearing it before, but normally it sits below her neckline. “Looks like my time’s up.”

Bucky mutters imprecations until Darcy pulls him back down for one last kiss. He can feel her smile against his lips; it eases the sting as she melts away from in his arms. It’s not like any of the other lads would be getting a visit from their sweethearts over the next few months anyway. He stands, brushing grass off his trousers as he collects his jacket.

* * *

The pedestal is cool underneath Darcy’s legs and she realises this is the first time that she has travelled sitting down. Thankfully, her discarded clothes seem to have travelled with her and lie scattered around her on the pedestal.

Hearing her name, she looks up. Steve is staring, cheeks flushed slightly. “I take it that it worked?”

She nods, smoothing down her hair and tugging her neckline up. She’s 23 and she just spent the last half-hour necking in the woods. It’s a good thing she didn’t go for a more elaborate hairstyle today, given the hairpins surrounding her. Grinning, she pats the pedestal next to her as Steve gathers up her stockings. “How’d you guess?”

His lips twitch as he sits beside her. “I’m glad you find this funny.”

“Darcy, JARVIS said you were- oh!” Jane claps her hand over her mouth as she rounds the corner and catches sight of the two of them. “And you tell _us_ to get a room!”

Darcy wrinkles her nose at her friend. “I do have a room. The door was closed and I’m sure JARVIS tried to dissuade you.”

“I did indeed, Miss Lewis. Dr Foster was most insistent.”

“So really, it’s your own fault.”

Jane hmphs, though Darcy can see a smile lurking at the side of her mouth. “At least you have your clothes on.”

Darcy pulls an errant strap back onto one shoulder.

“Well, most of them.”


	18. November 1943

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: for some suicidal thoughts because the angst fairy made a pass over this one

“Maybe she’s got a friend.”

Bucky snorts and turns back to the bar to finish his drink. Yeah, like he actually wants to meet someone new. He flirted with Agent Carter out of habit more than anything. He didn’t want to go dancing. Not with Agent Carter — not with anyone. Really, he would rather curl up in a corner somewhere and die. Maybe that will stop the nightmares.

Failing that, getting blind drunk will do.

He’s put a good face on it for Steve’s sake — the punk was so damn proud about his first brush with war. As he should be; rescuing the shattered remains of the 107th from far behind enemy lines is no mean feat for a single man, no matter how enhanced. The rest of the troops seem to think he walks on water or the like, though Bucky is sure the shine will wear off soon enough. He can feel his own happy mask beginning to slip, sleepless nights and jumping at shadows taking their toll, but he’s a sniper; his job is to keep watch. Steve’s been too busy to notice him volunteering for double watches; the others happy to let him take their shifts. If he’d been more aware, more vigilant, perhaps they wouldn’t have been captured in the first place. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been reduced to a shivering shell of a man, to be hauled out of that base like so much dead weight.

He tries to remember the good times a mere six months ago, but they already seem distant, like another life, another person. Now, each time he closes his eyes, he’s back in the base, at the mercy of Dr Zola. The stubby scientist had wanted him alive if only to save him the hassle of finding a new test subject among the prisoners. Apparently, surviving Zola’s first round of procedures made him a particularly interesting specimen. Zola didn’t bother to hold his tongue in his own lab. After all, who was Bucky going to tell?

Interfering in Steve’s burgeoning love life was a distraction, a way to reassure himself that he was still a person and not an experiment.

The snub still stung.

Maybe it was thanks to Darcy, but he’s always had an easy confidence that drew the dames. His Ma said he could charm the birds out of the trees, often after talking him and Steve out of trouble once again. Steve was the awkward, overlooked one, and on top of everything, in the privacy of his own head, Bucky could admit that he was jealous of Steve’s newfound magnetism.

The punk was still terrible at talking to dames, but at least now they’d stop to listen. Agent Carter, for one, seemed to see the good heart inside him, and he’d seen the way a few of the other women around the camp watched as Steve walked by.

“You should go after her,” he tells his friend, who looks up from his own drink, startled.

“Peggy?”

“No, the man on the moon. _Yes_ , Peggy. Agent Carter. Dame like that doesn’t look at you and walk away unless she wants you to follow.”

He nearly laughs at the haste at which Steve throws back the remains of his drink. All too soon, he is left alone with an empty glass and his memories. They are foggy and fragmented, thanks to both the fever and Zola’s experiments, and he is heartily glad Steve blew the damned place up on their way out.

Someone settles in Steve’s recently vacated seat. He doesn’t look up, the alcohol dulling his usual need to monitor his surroundings. “This seat’s taken,” he tells them, though whether Steve is coming back is debatable at this point.

“Oh, that’s a pity,” the interloper says, and he does a double-take at the beauty on his left.

“Darcy!?”

“Should I go now?” she offers, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to intrude.” She even gets as far as standing up before his hand on her arm halts her.

“Wait, Darcy…”

She sits back down with a laugh, sobers as she studies his face. “Bucky, no offence. But you look like hell.”

He rubs a hand over his face, unable to meet her sympathetic gaze. He’s very aware he lost his uniform tie several weeks ago and he hasn’t shaved too recently either, a far cry from the dapper sergeant who met her back in July. “Yeah, well, I feel like hell.”

“What happened?”

At her soft question, he flinches. She sets a tentative hand on his shoulder, squeezes slightly, then lets go.

“Forget I asked.” She lowers her voice. “When are we, though? There’s no handy newspaper around here.”

He gives her the date, sees her taking note of their surroundings. The bar is mostly empty, though he can still hear the rest of Steve’s new team celebrating in the other room. They’re good men, clicked as a team sometime during their captivity while he was out of commission. Though he can’t begrudge them their fun, he’s in no mood for the same. Or he wasn’t, without Darcy. He’s wondering how long she be here this time. If he invites her to go dancing, will she shoot him down as quickly as Agent Carter did? His mouth is open to ask when he spots Steve returning over Darcy’s shoulder, his hair rumpled and a bemused smile on his face.

Bucky’s stomach sinks. There’s no way Darcy won’t notice the change in Steve. She always had a smile for him, back when he was scrawny and sickly. Now he’s so much more — the hero of the hour — as if all that goodness he had bottled up inside him finally made its way to the surface. What chance does Bucky have against that?

Steve’s face brightens when he sees Darcy and Bucky pastes a smile on his own face. In the dim bar, he’s hoping Steve won’t notice his artifice or will take it for fatigue. “Darcy, have you seen Steve recently?” he asks, striving to sound casual.

There’s just a trace of confusion at his question until he gestures behind her and her face lights up. She spins on her chair, takes in Steve — the new Steve — at a glance. Bucky finds himself holding his breath, waiting for her reaction. Even Steve looks a little nervous, though why Bucky can’t tell.

Without missing a beat, Darcy grins. “Hey, Steve. Looking good there.”

Bucky stares, breath a noisy exhale. “That’s it?”

Darcy’s eyes widen comically. “Oh my word, is that _Captain America_? Be still my beating heart, I can hardly believe my very own eyes. Oh, catch me darling, I think I may swoon!” Suiting action to words, she collapses off her bar stool into Bucky’s arms, giggling helplessly. Her hair smells sweet and fruity as it did back during that impossibly perfect afternoon in Devon.

“You’re outrageous,” he tells her, catching her free hand in his and shaking his head at her antics.

“What did you think I was going to do?” she demands when she has breath to speak again. “Scream? Faint? Both of you looked like I’d announced I had a bomb in my purse. You’re still _Steve_. I just gotta get a boost if I want to ruffle your hair now.”

Bucky shared a rueful look with Steve, whose surprise at Darcy’s gushing has morphed into amusement.

“Well, he does look a little different, unless you’ve seen him more recently than I have?” Bucky turns the statement into a question — Steve hadn’t mentioned meeting Darcy, but the last few days haven’t been particularly conducive for conversation. Or sleep. Along with Bucky’s reluctance to close his eyes, Steve hadn’t brought along any bedrolls or tents on his rescue mission. Besides, they were all unwilling to camp anywhere for long. It had all been one long march back to the Allied camp.

Steve shakes his head in response to Bucky’s question. “Nah, I last saw you back in New York. Your last night, Buck, remember?”

“Yeah, right before you signed up for Stark’s mad science experiment,” Bucky reminds him, and Steve grimaces.

“You’re not going to let that go, are you? In my defence, I didn’t even know it was Stark until right before they started the process.”

“Like that’s any better? It was just some unknown mad scientist! I turn my back for 10 minutes…” He almost shudders at the idea but has enough self-control to hold it inside, where Darcy won’t notice. He will not taint her light with his darkness, cannot let her see how badly he is broken. There will be time enough to fall apart when no one is watching.

For herself, Darcy is watching the exchange with interest, her gaze switching between the friends like a spectator in a tennis match. It’s almost as if she doesn’t realise she’s still in Bucky’s arms, one hand on his forearm, the other holding his.

“Be nice, Buck,” she scolds gently. “Steve was just trying to do the right thing.”

“The right thing is going to get him killed one day,” he replies, and her eyes darken. He wonders who she’s lost, to look so terribly sad. He wonders if it’s right to feel jealous of a dead man.

“This is war,” she reminds them both. “Anyone could die.”

There is silence between them until a burst of laughter emanates from the next room. Darcy takes it upon herself to start the conversation again. “Oops. I mean, that got morbid awfully fast.” She casts about for another topic, finds one in “Steve, why is there lipstick on your chin?”

Steve flushes scarlet and rubs at his chin as Darcy laughs. Bucky finds himself smiling too, content for now to enjoy her presence. Soon she will go and the nightmares will be back, but at least he’ll have some good memories to hold against the dark. It’s not much, but maybe it’ll be enough.


	19. August 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood whiplash, because my natural habitat is fluff, and a bit at the end is inspired by a Tumblr post. You'll know it when you see it :)

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“Steve. Honey-bunny. Pumpkin cheeks. You’re _hurting_.”

Steve shakes his head mulishly, having already given up on trying to halt the nicknames. “I’m _fine_.”

“You’d go see a doctor if you were sick — no, I know you don’t get sick these days but hear me out. You’re heart-sick, Steve, and you need to see a doctor for that. There’s no shame in seeking help. Dr Garner comes highly recommended and he has a decent SHIELD security clearance as well. I’m not saying tell him everything — I’d appreciate it if you left a few things between us — but you have to admit, you’ve lost an awful lot in the last few months.”

“Darcy, it’s been 70 years.”

It’s Darcy’s turn to shake her head. “Not for you, it hasn’t. It’s been almost a year since I first met Bucky. I’ve had months to process his death and I’m still not over it. I think I’m in a better place now, but Steve, you’re not happy.”

“That’s not your fault,” Steve protests. “You don’t have to fix it for me.”

Darcy snorts. “Of course it isn’t and of course I don’t. But you’re my friend and I want to help. Please let me help? Pleaaase?”

Steve’s shoulders slump, though the hint of smile twitches at the edge of his mouth. “Okay. I’ll talk to this Dr Garner.”

The responding smile is bright and ends up pressed against Steve’s chest as she goes in for a hug. He’d shied away from them at first, reluctant to engage because she’s _Bucky’s_  girl, until he noticed her hurt when he fended her off, how touchy-feely Darcy is with the people she cares about. He feels privileged to count himself one of them. Only he and Dr Foster get hugs, but she hip-bumps Stark as she collects coffee cups and ruffles Dr Banner’s hair into even greater degrees of fluffiness, as she used to do to him. A few of the other lab workers get side-hugs and high-fives — one girl in reception even has a complicated handshake that ends in whooping and giggles. Darcy seems to recognise (without him telling her) that Barton and Romanoff are rather unenthusiastic about casual contact and instead buys their friendship with freshly baked muffins.

She saves some of every batch for Steve, so that’s all right.

He knows who Britney Spears is now, and they’re almost up to date on Doctor Who. They’ve taken to watching it on the TV in Darcy’s set of rooms. It might not be as large as the one in the common room, but it is still wider than Darcy’s arm span and quite sufficient for their purposes. Sometimes, instead of watching, they’ll just sit and talk. Darcy makes cocoa and wraps them both in fluffy blankets as he fills in the gaps between her visits. She’s kept notes of her trips and veers between begging for information on those she hasn’t made yet and insisting he doesn’t tell her anything.

They’ll sit and reminisce about Bucky, and sometimes she holds him as he cries, and sometimes it’s the other way around. He’ll talk about Peggy, and the Howlies, and the world that he knew, and in return, she teaches him about the world that is. When conversation moves to Valentine’s Day 1937, she suggests visiting Coney Island.

“It’s still there?” He can’t imagine how much it must have changed.

Darcy nods, already pulling out her StarkPhone to show him photos. “I haven’t been since you two took me, but it’s still running.” Her smile turns wicked. “We’ll make a date of it.”

The others seem content to assume they are together and leave them their privacy. Steve half-expected Stark to crack inappropriate comments about Darcy but the other man is almost paternalistic as he warns Steve against hurting her. He actually checks with Darcy that the two aren’t related. When she’s recovered from the laughing fit, she assures him that any resemblance is merely coincidental and shows him photos of her family on Facebook.

* * *

Coney Island is as loud and busy as Steve remembers, and while some stalls and rides are different, the air of general excitement is just the same. They try out all the rides (some twice, sometimes for Darcy but mostly for Steve) and he is relieved that his weak stomach was left behind in 1943. Darcy starts off by waving away his offer to buy the hot dogs, but after he inhales four of the overpriced snacks, she lets him buy his own. The crowds jostle and shove, children shouting in joy. Some strain on Steve’s face eases as he digs into his second sno cone and Darcy snaps a selfie to send to Jane. Steve hasn’t seen much of her diminutive friend; apparently, Thor’s desertion has pushed her into a frenetic level of research and rarely ventures outside of the labs.

Perhaps their outing would’ve gone unnoticed, but for the little boy who takes one look and yells “MOMMY! LOOK IT’S CAPTAIN AMERICA!!!”

The poor mother hushes her child, blushing and apologising until her jaw drops as she realises her son is right. The entire crowd converges on Steve, who henceforth decides never to go outside again. Old men are thanking for his service, young kids want to hear about all the explosions, and women of all ages are fluttering and fawning, trying to get a photo with him. Someone even asks him to sign their trading cards and the unwelcome reminder of the late Agent Coulson puts rather a damper on his mood. Steve tries his best, but the pushing and shoving are taking their toll.

Just as it’s getting intolerable, Darcy steps in. She grabs Steve’s hand and yanks him through the crowd to a taxi, Steve apologising to his fans the whole way. Only inside the taxi, with time to breath, do they take one look at each other and burst into laughter. There’s an edge of hysteria there, but it’s laughter all the same. Darcy rests her head on Steve’s shoulder as they order the driver to the Tower.

* * *

The next morning, Steve comes in from his morning run as Stark’s grabbing breakfast in the common room. “Cap! You’re trending on Twitter!”

Steve blinks in confusion at the unconventional welcome and Stark’s smile falters. “You do know what Twitter is, don’t you?”

 _Of course I do,_ he almost says, before a spirit of mischief steals in. “No, what is that?” he asks politely, snickering internally at the horrified look on Stark’s face.

“What has Lewis been doing with you? Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. But how do you not know about Twitter? Tell me she’s told you about it before.”

Steve bites his cheek and pastes blank incomprehension over his features. Bucky used to call it his ‘innocent’ face. Along with Bucky’s silver tongue, it got them out of trouble more than a few times as the teachers looked elsewhere for the culprits. “She might have mentioned it,” he says hesitantly, and Stark clutches at his chest.

“JARVIS bring Twitter up on the main screen,” he orders and proceeds to spend the next hour teaching Steve about the microblogging site.

“But how does it work?” Steve asks, enjoying Stark getting more and more frustrated. “How can people be following me if I’m up here? Why is the little number red? What’s this screen here? Is it supposed to be doing that?”

Sometime in that hour, Darcy comes in to make her morning coffee, watches from a distance. When Tony finally snaps and returns to his lab, he orders her to take over the lesson. As soon as the elevator doors swoop shut behind him, both Darcy and Steve collapse into helpless laughter.

“You got that on video, right JARVIS?” Darcy asks. “We HAVE to put it on YouTube.”

 **Blond, Dumb Blond** posts their first video that afternoon: How do I Twitter is only moderately successful, but Man vs. Smartphone has even more views, and by It’s NOT a Touchscreen??? their devoted fanbase is well established. Darcy has JARVIS degrade the footage to disguise the participants’ identities. She doesn’t know how often Stark googles himself (though _daily_ would not surprise her) but they don’t want him to know about this channel yet.

(Their supposed relationship made its way onto a few gossip sites, but they prefer to ignore that. There are more interesting things on the Internet.)


	20. March 1927

Darcy shades her eyes against the setting (or rising?) sun and looks around. From the looks of it, it’s late afternoon heading towards evening. Workers stream past on their way home to the old tenement buildings around her. There’s a familiar figure ahead, shorter and skinnier than the rest, satchel on one shoulder. One man hurries past, a little too close, jerking the satchel away from his hands. Bucky spins in surprise and anger to give chase. “Hey!” he yells, though he is already far behind.

The thief doesn’t look around, but his path takes him too close to Darcy and she sticks her foot out, snagging the satchel as he topples to the ground, arms windmilling. He makes an abortive grab for the bag, knocking a paper loose, and she aims a kick at his head in response. “Get lost,” she tells him, and he flees from her steely-eyed glare and pointy shoes. She watches him long enough to ensure he’s going and then holds the bag out to Bucky, who is staring at her, eyes wide.

“Darcy? But you-” his head swivels back and forth, up and down the street. “You’re different.”

Confused, Darcy just stares back at him. Almost by reflex, she glances down at the newspaper sticking out of the bag and recognises the date. She’s been here-and-now before, about a year ago now. She might have just missed herself, if her semi-familiar surroundings are any indication. A thought strikes her and she checks the date on the newspaper again. If her memory of that long-ago research is right, then:

“Bucky, is it your birthday?”

He grabs his satchel from her and looks down, shuffles his booted feet on the dusty sidewalk, which is answer enough for her.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she demands, remembering his happy chatter as he escorted her home. Steve’s fighting was already a common occurrence, though he wasn’t even a teenager yet. She would have to tease Steve about that when she got back to her time, though given how they first met, she shouldn’t be too surprised.

“You didn’t know how long you’d be here and I didn’t want to say anything so you didn’t feel bad about missing my party,” Bucky explains in a single breath, knuckles white on his bag strap.

Darcy halts, mid-step. “You’re having a party?”

“Well, Ma’s making me a special dinner. You’re coming, right?”

“I don’t know if I’m invited,” she demurs.

“Ma said I could invite some friends, and you’re my friend, aren’t you?”

Darcy thinks back to some of their more recent encounters and feels her cheeks heat. _I’d say a little more than friends._ ‘Uh, yeah, of course!” she says, realising she’s been thinking too long. “What about Steve?”

“Oh, he’s coming, if his ma lets him leave the house after that fight yesterday. He’ll be pleased to see you.”

He looks up at her pleadingly and she caves. “I’ll stay for a while, how’s that?”

His face lights up and Darcy kicks herself for agreeing. She really can’t say no to Bucky, but how is she supposed to explain her presence to Bucky’s parents?

As it turns out, there is no need to worry. Winifred Barnes greets Darcy like an old friend and listens as Bucky recounts how Darcy stopped the thief. Listening in, Darcy nearly doesn’t recognise herself in the daunting saga of heroism Bucky tells with many sound effects and extravagant gestures. To hear his side of it, she chased down a gang of thieves, beating them all to a pulp, and caught an escaped convict in the process.

Winifred (‘call me Winn’) listens from the kitchen while she prepares the evening meal, inserting all the appropriate noises of appreciation as Bucky acts it out. Every so often, he looks over at Darcy, as if he can't believe she's right there. Truth be told, part of her can't believe it herself.

Little Becky is less impressed with Bucky's storytelling, and she darts wary looks at Darcy as she helps her ma with the meal. George Barnes will be back later, Winn assures Darcy, but he should be home by the time Bucky’s friends arrive.

When the children are ordered to wash up in preparation for their guests, Winn takes Darcy aside in the kitchen.

“I know what you are,” she confides, and Darcy nearly drops the stack of bowls she is taking out of a cupboard.

“You do?”

“You look the same as when I first met you. You appear when my Bucky’s in trouble and drag him out of it, by the ear if necessary, which it often is with boys that age, and then you disappear. It’s not difficult to work out.”

“I-” Darcy protests, but Winn shakes her head.

“You don’t need to say anything. We are blessed to have you under our roof today and any other day. Thank you for taking care of my boy.”

Giving up, Darcy just nods. Considering the upcoming tragedy of World War 2, she hopes Winn isn’t placing too much faith in her protection. “I do what I can,” she admits, not technically lying, “though I can’t do everything. Don’t say anything to him, would you?”

Winn agrees with a soft smile, but “I’m quite sure he already knows.”

Thinking back to some of her previous visits, Darcy can’t argue with that. It certainly casts some of their future interactions in a different light. Did Bucky only spend time with her because he thought her some mystical, spiritual being? It’s an uncomfortable feeling — or maybe that’s just the rapidly warming hourglass hanging on her neck.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Darcy says, “but I’m afraid I have to go.”

“Of course,” Winn replies, nodding. “I’m sure you have a lot to do.”

Bucky clatters back into the room as Darcy has her hand on the doorknob.

“You’re leaving?” he asks, skidding to a halt in front of her, and she nods.

“Places to go, people to see,” she replies breezily, though her heart cracks a little at the woebegone expression on his face. She's leaving him behind - again.

"What do you say?" Winn scolds from behind them.

Bucky's spine stiffens and he smoothes the hurt off his face. "Thank you for coming," he recites.

"It was my pleasure," she tells him, and a shy, genuine smile spreads across his face. On a whim, she leans forward and places a single kiss on his forehead. He’ll be far taller than her soon enough, his forehead far out of reach. “Happy Birthday, Bucky,” she says, and steps outside. By the time the door is fully open, she is no more than a memory.


	21. September 2012

_Dude, this guy’s friend totally looks like Tony Stark_

_No way, Tony Stark is way hotter!_

_I think it’s just his hair. His voice is completely different_

_This HAS to be scripted. His friends can’t think he’s that dumb, can they?_

_I dunno, I’ve met some very stupid people_

_OMG these videos are GENIUS_

Darcy wanders into her lounge to find Steve scrolling through YouTube comments as he lazes on her couch. It’s the only place in the Tower that they can be assured of privacy from Tony. With the unexpected success of **Blond, Dumb Blond** , it’s become important that Tony does not walk in on Steve using modern technology with any level of proficiency.

Well, not until they hit 1 Million subscribers, anyway.

“Hey Darcy, how was it?”

He doesn’t ask after Bucky directly, though grief shadows his eyes. Talking to Dr Garner has been good for him — finding a hobby has been even better.

“Pretty good,” Darcy answers, slumping on the couch beside him, “though apparently, you got yourself in a fight the day before.”

Steve grins. “Did that a lot.”

“Were you determined to fight every bully in Brooklyn?”

“No, but somehow they kept finding me. Seemed to think they could pick on me.”

“Steve, you were 100 pounds soaking wet and skinny as a rake. And that was when you were fully  grown, too.”

“How old was I?” Steve asks. “You know, when you went.”

Darcy does some quick mental arithmetic. “Nine, I’m pretty sure, but I didn’t see you.” She glances sideways at him, biting her bottom lip, and he stiffens, putting down her StarkPad and looks at her sharply.

“What is it? What happened?”

“Steve… what did you and Bucky think of me?”

Steve looks puzzled. “What do you mean? I know I never figured you were toying with Buck on purpose.”

The _on purpose_ hits her hard, but it’s not what she meant.

“No, I mean like how did you think I was appearing and disappearing like I did?”

“Oh. We never really thought about it, to be honest. At least for Bucky, you just kept showing up. He assumed it was just a thing you did.”

“So he didn’t think I was a- a- an angel or something?”

“I know he considered it at one point, but I don’t think it was ever his overall idea of you. You were one of life’s little mysteries. Why?”

“Because Winifred Barnes seemed to think I was Bucky’s guardian angel and I’m really not sure how I feel about that.”

Steve snickers. “Why? You certainly got us out of enough scrapes.”

Darcy stares him down. “I failed him, Steve. The one time he really needed me, and you know I wasn’t there.” That was the only time he’d ever cracked and told her anything certain about her future - and his past. She’d hoped against hope he would admit she swooped in and saved Bucky, but he assured her it wasn’t the case and then they’d both ended up sobbing.

“Don’t say that, Darcy. You can’t control where you go. If anyone failed Bucky, it was me. I was in charge, he followed _me_ onto that train.”

“Did you need to be on that train?” Darcy demands, and Steve nods reluctantly. “Then don’t you dare beat yourself up about what happened! You did the best you could.”

Steve wilts and Darcy has to lean forward to hear what he says.

“It wasn’t enough.”

She sighs. “I don’t know why I thought I could change that. I shouldn’t even have bothered.”

“What?”

“I spent all this time trying to save him when it turns out some things really are set in stone. Now I _know_ I can’t save him, I should stop.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t seem to be complaining last time, Miss-most-of-my-clothes.”

“That was before I talked with Winn,” Darcy explained, blushing. “I don’t want to go back if he only liked me because he knew I wasn’t real.”

“You know that’s not true! He hated it when you left. You fought about that, remember?”

“Even more reason I shouldn’t have done this in the first place. I hurt him every time I visit, even if it’s just when I come back.”

“Darcy, your visits were the highlights of some very tough times. When Ma-” Steve cuts himself off, swallowing whatever he was going to say and starts again. “I honestly can’t imagine my friendship with Bucky without you. You were the one who introduced us, remember?”

Darcy waves that away. “You two would’ve met without me. You were right into that fight by the time I rocked up, didn’t need an interfering time traveller from the 21st Century to make friends.”

“Yeah, but — look, Darcy, if you want to stop travelling, that’s up to you. But Bucky would miss you when you were gone.”

“But dammit, Steve, I miss him now!” Darcy cried. “I hate that I only get to see him an hour at a time or less, I hate that everything we have is already ancient history!

Steve raises his eyebrows at her and Darcy deflates. “Sorry. I got carried away there. Your life sucks too.”

“Not as much as it could, thanks to you. And while I can’t help with the second problem, have you tried talking to Tony about the first? He’s the one who invented this time-travelling in the first place.”

“Oh. Well, no, actually.”

Steve gives her a _look_ and she makes a face back at him. “Stop that. I'll think about it, okay? What have you been up to today?”

“Oh, just some training.”

“It seems like that’s all you do, these days,” Darcy replies flippantly, “apart from YouTube, of course.”

“It kind of is,” Steve admits. “I don’t have much else to do.”

Darcy would laugh, but Steve sounds _too_ chipper, and that’s never a good sign. He only sounds that cheerful when he’s putting on a show. “Really?”

“Yeah. What else is there for me to do? I can’t step outside without being mobbed and I have none of the education or skills that employers even want. All I’m good for these days is fighting.”

“That's not true," Darcy protests. "What about SHIELD?”

“What, like Agent Coulson?” Steve looks thoughtful.

“Yeah, I’m sure they could use a guy like you.” Another option that came to mind was male modelling, but as much as Darcy likes to make Steve blush, they’re having a serious conversation here. She’ll bring it up another time.

“I’d have to talk to one of the others. Clint, maybe.”

“He’s out of town until Christmas, at least,” Darcy reminds him. “It’d have to be Nat.”

Steve screws his face up. “Must I? I swear, every time we have a conversation it’s like she’s looking right through me. I’m pretty sure she knows about our YouTube.”

“If she does, she hasn’t told Tony,” Darcy points out. “Just do it. What’s the worst that can happen?”

He shrugs, undecided, then his eyes narrow in triumph. “I’ll talk to her when you talk to Tony.”

“About the pedestal? What if I like only going for an hour?” Darcy demands, conveniently forgetting how emphatically she had proclaimed the opposite a few minutes ago.

“You mean, what if it doesn’t work?” Steve asks, altogether too perceptive.

“Yeah, that.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” he wheedles.

Darcy sticks her lower lip out. “He could make it so I only stay for half an hour. Or ten seconds. It’s pretty chancy at the best of times and the hour is one of the only constants. Even Bucky isn’t, not after we went to 1963.”

Steve winces at the reminder. “There are two pedestals, right? You can leave the one in the old labs as a backup. Worse comes to worse, you can use it and still be able to go for an hour. He won’t be able to stop you travelling; I _know_ you’ll make it back a few more times, at least.”

Darcy sighs and hauls down a blanket from the back of the couch. “There’s that, I suppose. I guess I better learn to live with it.”

Steve grabs it off her and shakes it out so it fits around the two of them. “I might just be a kid from Brooklyn, but I think you’re doing pretty good, Darcy.”

Darcy cracks a smile. “Doing well, Steve, it’s doing _well_. Superman does good.”

Steve groans. “Grammar Nazi,” he accuses, and she pokes her tongue out at him.

“You learnt that off the net, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and a small, inappropriate part of me finds it oddly satisfying that the Nazis are equated with a bunch of kids who have no idea how to use apostrophes. It seems like a fitting legacy. The other part of me is horrified that the worst genocide in history is equated with a bunch of kids who have no idea how to use apostrophes. ”

“You’re weird,” Darcy tells him, screwing her nose up.

“Of course I am. Now, what should our next video be?”

“What about that cat you showed me? And those other photos? With the words?”

Darcy grins, wickedly. “Brace yourself, memes are coming.”

There’s an answering grin on Steve’s face. “I don’t always pretend to see memes for the first time, but when I do, I don’t get them.”

“Oh, Tony’s going to feel _so_ superior. He prides himself on his internet savvy.”

Steve purses his lips, as if deep in thought. “If I’m the bad guy in this … do we need to get me a hat?”


	22. October 1936

In a rare moment of sense, Tony decides to go back to testing on inanimate objects while he fiddles with the pedestal. This is a great relief to Darcy, as one rock disappears for an entire week and another one returns as gravel.

She holds out as long as she can, but after a particularly trying day with Jane where _nothing_ seemed to work, Steve in Washington for a job interview, and Tony being too absorbed in the pedestal, she sneaks into the old labs.

It’s not really sneaking, she tells herself, as the panel by the door goes green. It’s just that no-one removed her access when it was downgraded to house some of SI’s more mundane R&D. Several of the researchers nod in greeting as she walks by their labs; she feels a pang of nostalgia as she passes the one that used to be Jane’s.

All of Jane’s machines were moved to the Tower, as were most of Tony’s inventions. The pedestal, built into the room as it was, remains in the part of the building that stores the less portable of Tony’s inventions. He swears he’ll come back to them at some point in time, but invariably gets distracted before he actually does anything. Darcy barely notices them as she heads to the nondescript former closet.

Her cell phone and taser go into the cubby Tony built, her hair already pinned in a neat roll. Pulling her hourglass out, she spins it and tucks it back inside her neckline as she presses the button in front of her.

* * *

She hears the bells first. Turning around, she recognises the old church that Sarah used to drag Steve along to. He’d stopped by, in the present, but it wasn’t the same without Brother Michael sneaking the boys sweets if they behaved themselves during mass.

It’s a rather grey and dreary day and Bucky is nowhere to be seen, so she makes her way to the church, intending to go inside. Hopefully, it will be warmer in there. As she passes the entrance to the attached graveyard, she glances inside and pauses. A small crowd of mourners cluster around a fresh grave; even as she watches, they begin to disperse. Most are women who support each other with hugs as they part ways, some giving Darcy curious glances as they pass. Soon, only two figures are left and Darcy’s heart breaks.

The larger slings an arm around the smaller and Darcy draws back as they head towards her. Bucky doesn’t even look surprised to see her, and he nods in greeting. Steve’s slight shoulders are weighed down with grief and he doesn’t look up as Bucky steers him out of the gate past Darcy. Clutching her coat tight around her, she falls into step beside them, all the way to Steve’s home. Bucky is trying to convince Steve to stay with his family but Steve stubbornly refuses. He turns at his front door, notices Darcy for the first time mid-sentence.

“I’m fine on my own,” he insists, and Darcy snorts. Same stubborn Steve.

“Sure you might be,” she says, “but you don’t have to be. You’re our friend and we want to help.”

“With you to the end of the line, pal,” Bucky says, and Steve sighs.

“Let me just get my things, alright?” He unlocks the door and they follow him into the small apartment. It’s all one room, bed and threadbare couch side by side, a wonky dining table still piled high with cloths and old dishes.

“Sorry for the mess,” he mutters, shoulders hunched. “I haven’t really -” his already quiet voice tails off. Darcy and Bucky share a look, in perfect agreement, and step forward.

“Don’t worry about it, punk,” Bucky says, clapping his friend on the back. “Let’s get you packed up.”

Darcy collects the dishes around the place, scrubs them clean with the scrap of soap by the sink. Bucky drags a battered suitcase out from under the bed and puts in the clothes Steve fetches from the dresser. They’re nearly done when Steve pauses, holding up a pretty blue shawl with daisies around the edges.

“This was Ma’s favourite,” he says simply, and Darcy puts down the rag she’s been using as a dishcloth and enfolds him in a hug as he begins to sob into her shoulder. He’s only a few inches taller than her right now, but she’s done this more than a few times over the last few months.

She glances over Steve’s shoulder at the subject of their future grief. He is folding, with practised ease, bed sheets so thin she can see right through them. Catching her eye, he grins at the surprise that must show on her face. “You know Ma, you think she’d let me get away without knowing how to help around the house?”

Darcy snorts at the very idea, sobers quickly as she remembers why they’re here. Giving Steve one last squeeze, she lets him go.

“I got your blouse wet,” he mumbles, scrubbing at his eyes.

Very lightly, she cuffs him on the side of the head. “I’ve had worse,” she tells him and takes the shawl from unresisting fingers. Folding it with care, she places it on top of the meagre pile of clothes in the suitcase. Steve adds a few more items then swings it shut, clasps clicking into place.

Bucky pulls the suitcase off the bed. “Ready to go?” At his light touch on her arm, Darcy follows him over to the door, giving Steve some space even as a familiar warmth spreads across her chest.

Steve takes a shuddering breath as he looks around at the now spotless apartment. He looks so _young_ , so helpless, though she knows he’d hate the description.

“Take care of him, would you?” she whispers to Bucky, rather unnecessarily, though he nods.

On her tiptoes, she presses a kiss to his cheek and steps backwards, wishing that Tony would hurry up and find a way to let her stay longer. Bucky looks poleaxed, though, which is enough to make her chuckle as the world slips away.


	23. October 2012

**Extracts from the Diary of Darcy Lewis, age 23 1/4**

_(A/N: if you are Tony Stark, get da hell out of here!)_

_Steve tells me I should keep better notes of my time-travelling than whatever scraps of paper come to hand. Since my other diary has gone AWOL, I figured I’d start fresh. Ignore the tear stains, Steve, and I’ll ignore any you happen to leave behind when you give this back._

_Trip one: this is the one Tony paid me for. I went back to December 1944 and Jim Morita lent me his coat. It was the night before Bucky fell off the train. I pretty much cried the entire time._

_Trip two: I ended up in July 1939. You weren’t there, Steve, but Bucky bought me a drink and was generally very apologetic. I was dressed for the French Alps at the time, so it was rather hot._

_Trip three: I didn’t realise it at the time, but it was Bucky’s 10th birthday, the one I revisited later._

_Trip four: it was a Sunday in May and Bucky bought me a soda. He was already taller than me at 15 (so that would be 1932), can you believe?_

_Trip five: you should remember this one, Steve. I had to wade into a fistfight and pull out a couple of boys no higher than my shoulder. You got a cut on your cheek and Bucky had one on his forehead._

_Trip six: <3 Coney Island, Valentine’s Day 1937 <3 Need I say more? You were awfully good-natured about having to third-wheel with us :)_

_Trip seven: the suckiest trip ever. 1938._

_Trip eight: World Expo, June 1943. Also known as the day you signed up for Erskine and Stark’s crazy science experiment, you idiot. I’m so glad it worked._

_Trip nine: I don’t think this counts? But it was when we went to Dallas and missed the most famous shooting last century by *this* much._

_Trip ten: My very first visit to England, and it was July 1943 so I couldn’t even take selfies at Big Ben. Wipe that smirk off your face, Steve, I still had most of my clothes on._

_Trip eleven: Met you and Bucky at the bar in Europe somewhere. It was the first time you met me, post-Erskine, remember? You were so surprised I wasn’t more surprised, it was  hilarious. _

_Trip twelve: came back to Bucky’s 10th birthday in 1927. Winn seemed to think I was Bucky’ guardian angel, which is totally weird when you think about it too much._

_Trip thirteen: your Ma’s funeral (October 1936, as if you’d forget). Bucky and I helped you pack. I love you, Steve, but you can be as stubborn as hell sometimes. And when I say sometimes, I mean ALL THE TIME._

Steve makes a very nice cushion, Darcy reflects, as she flips through the diary in her hands. “How’s the editing going?”

“Almost done,” Steve mutters, fingers tapping away on the StarkPad that Tony thinks he never uses. “I just need to sync up these sound effects.”

JARVIS chimes and they both look up. Steve’s hand pauses over the button to clear his screen. “Miss Lewis, Sir has requested your assistance.”

“What is it? I’m not getting him more coffee, he can do that himself.”

Tony’s voice comes through the speakers and Steve instinctively shoves the StarkPad under a cushion. “I’ve done all I can, testing on rocks. I need a live subject. You ready to go exploring again, Dora?”

Darcy pushes her glasses back up on her face, swings her legs off the couch. “Let me grab my coat.”

* * *

“THIRTY SECONDS, Tony? Seriously?”

“Where were you?”

“No idea, I barely arrived before I disappeared again. I thought I wanted to stay for longer, not shorter.”

“It’s the scientific method, Lewis. There are several variables that I’m testing.”

“Well, you can shove your method-”

* * *

“You can’t just send me to the past to shut me-”

“What was that, Lewis?”

* * *

"Okay, I’ll try one of the longer settings, Lewis. Now put down Dum-E, he’s just a prototype.”

“How long is this one?”

“Stand there, it’s eight hours.”

“Wha-”

* * *

“Gee, Lewis, are you sunburnt?”

“Probably, Tony. Some ass sent me to the middle of summer in 1930 for _eight hours_ and I fell asleep in the sun.”

“You want to try again?”

“I’m going to find some aloe gel and then I’m going to bed. Judging by the coffee cups, you should too.”

* * *

“I’m s-s-so glad that was only t-t-twenty minutes. I think my f-f-fingers are numb.”

“Winter?”

“What t-tipped you off, Sherlock? Somewhere in Russia, I think. I can’t read Cyrillic.”

“Weird. You’ve never been there before.”

“Nope. I think your latest change broke something.”

* * *

“Mom’s never going to believe I made it to India. ‘When did you go there, Darcy?’ ‘October 1984, mom’ Yeah, that’d go down well.”

* * *

“What’s with the scarf as a headscarf, Lewis?”

“I was in Pakistan. Guy said it December 27th, and his camera looked recent. This combo of settings seems wonky.”

* * *

“If I had to spend four hours anywhere, I’m glad it was Paris. Even if it was during the war.”

“Is that a hickey, Lewis?”

“Shut _up_ , Tony.”

* * *

Tired of bouncing back and forth with seemingly no rhyme or reason, Darcy settles on the combination that sends her back for four hours. At least this setting has locked onto Bucky again. Staying for longer doesn’t help when she can’t control where she goes and Tony still can’t work out how to let her control when she comes back whilst in the past. He rigs up a new hourglass for her and bugs her to test it until he has a _fantastic_ idea for improving Dum-E’s processing speed and turns his focus there instead.


	24. December 2012

“Are you sure they won’t mind?” Steve asks, heaving Darcy’s bag out of the trunk. His own is much smaller and is already slung over one broad shoulder.

Darcy snorts. “Please. Mom has been dropping pointed hints ever since the dating rumours hit the web. The average family comment on Facebook has shifted from ‘when will you find a man’ to ‘when is the wedding’.”

Steve’s face drops. “I feel really bad about that. Tricking Tony is one thing; deceiving your family is another.”

“Don’t worry about it. I tell them we’re not dating pretty much every time we Skype. It’s not your fault they keep assuming.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “But now I’m coming home with you for Hanukkah. That’s a big deal.”

“I can’t remember a Hanukkah since fifth grade that didn’t include someone from outside the family. If it wasn’t that woman from mom’s work, it was one of mine or my siblings’ friends. The more, the merrier, really, especially for the big celebration we have on the last night. Tonight is more likely to be just family, but like I said, mom’s been hinting and it’s not like you had anywhere else to be.”

“Gee, thanks, Darcy.”

Darcy flashes him a grin. “Anytime, soldier.”

They don’t bother locking the car - “If anyone wants to steal a car, they’re more likely to take Ben’s Subaru.”

“That’s your brother, right?”

“Yep, Ben short for Bennet. He’s named after grandpa Benjamin and I’m named after great-grandpa David. Charlie - Charlotte - is named after great-grandpa Charles. Trust mom to find Austen references and still keep in it the family.”

She knocks at the door; it swings open to reveal a young man with Darcy’s eyes and nose. “You didn’t have to knock, the key is still - holy creamsicles, is that Captain America?”

Darcy wrinkles her nose at him. “What rock have you been living under, Ben? I’ve been living in Stark Tower for months and Steve doesn’t have any family to visit, so mom let me invite him. Steve, this is my brother Bennet. Ben, this is Steve. Rogers. Which you have already noticed, so stop staring and _move_.”

“Good to see you too, sis,” Ben says, but he moves aside to let them in.

There’s a thumping from down the hallway and Darcy kneels with a happy cry to get her face slobbered over by a giant St. Bernard. “Hey, Barney…who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy then?”

Truth be told, she hadn’t needed to kneel. Barney’s head easily reached Steve’s waist.

An older version of Darcy bustles out of a room to see what all the fuss is. Soon, Steve has been introduced to the rest of Darcy’s family, with the promise that the rest of the clan will converge on the Lewis homestead in about a week. ("You get to meet Nana just in time for the Mayan apocalypse, how about that?") Liz Lewis offers them both the guest room and Darcy very firmly announces she will share with her younger sister Charlotte. Liz reluctantly agrees; Ben makes a cough that sounds suspiciously like ‘ _grandkids_ ’ and Charlie giggles, earning them both a glare from their sister.

“Didn’t figure you for a prude, Darce,” Ben says, and Liz cuffs him on the back of his head.

“Bennet, watch your mouth around our guest. Darcy, are you sure?”

Darcy nods. “I told you, mom, we’re just friends.”

“That’s not what TMZ say,” Charlie puts in. “Or The Sun. Or-”

“Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.”

Sensing a fight brewing, Liz asks Darcy to show Steve around and Ben to set the table for dinner. Charlie goes to take Barney for a quick walk after snapping a selfie with Steve.

“She’s like a mini-you,” Steve jokes, and both girls make identical faces of disgust.

* * *

They gather around the menorah after sundown and Charlie lights the first candle as Barney slobbers over Steve's knee, having accepted him as part of the family. Once the blessings are done, the Lewis family disappear into the rest of the house, leaving Steve and Barney alone in the light of the flickering candle. One by one, they return carrying piles of brightly-wrapped gifts.

Steve’s jaw drops. “Darcy, you didn’t tell me there would be gifts!”

“That’s because you’re my guest,” she tells him, handing him one of her stack before distributing the rest among her family. Her siblings have one for each other and their parents, but Samuel and Liz Lewis give him alongside their own children. He stammers his thanks, which Samuel brushes off with “Darcy insists you are not our future son-in-law, but you are still our guest.”

This makes him feel a bit better, even as he rips the wrapping paper off to reveal a remote-controlled helicopter to match those the others received.

Darcy cackles in glee. “Hammertech? Tony’s going to have a stroke! Please tell me we can do a flyby of the labs.”

* * *

Gifts are followed by dinner and Darcy beams in pride as Steve wins Liz’s approval by complimenting her latkes. Afterwards, Charlie retreats to her room to study and Darcy does the dishes without hardly any urging from her mom. Once the last plate has been handed to Ben to dry, she hunts down Steve. She finds him in the family room, staring into the brightly burning fireplace.

“What’s up?” she asks, crossing the room to sit next to him.

“Just remembering,” he replies softly. “We did Christmas at home, but never had the money for anything big. Most of the time, it was just me and Ma, but me ’nd Bucky would take his sister to see the Christmas displays downtown, give their Ma a chance to hide their gifts.” He glances around, at the menorah on the table and the family photos lining the mantelpiece. “Can’t help but feel like it should be Buck here, meeting your family. Not me.”

Darcy inhales, ignoring the sharp stab of grief. “He’d be losing chess to my dad right now.”

“What do you mean? He was good at - oh. Yeah, I can see him doing that.”

Darcy laughs, and if there’s a trace of tears in her voice for a long-dead friend, well, there is no-one but Steve around to hear.

_Bucky offers her an arm and she takes it, laughing at his old fashioned manners. Arm in arm, they stroll down the boulevard. It must have been beautiful, once, and Darcy has no doubt is is both stunning and packed with tourists back in the present. For now, it is near deserted. Just a few streets away, Bucky tells her, entire blocks were bombed into rubble by the retreating German army. The Allies had bombed Paris as well, but their path of destruction was further out._

_Though the sun shines, a cool wind blows through the streets so they take refuge in a small cafe. The proprietor eyes them distrustfully, but takes their money, bringing out two coffees and a selection of pastries. When Darcy drags out her high school French to thank him, he sniffs and turns away, though his manner thaws somewhat._

_They eat, and laugh, and Bucky shares stories of the Howling Commandos fighting Nazis all over Europe. Darcy’s hourglass heats up and cools down; Bucky takes her hand and spins her around the cafe to the scratchy old radio. They steer clear off the Eiffel Tower — that’s where some of the Howlies went and neither want to share this day with anyone else._

_The sun slips below the horizon and the cafe owner shoos them out; they find a darkened archway some blocks from the Allied quarters. Darcy feels her hourglass heat for the fourth time as Bucky trails kisses down her throat. On her tiptoes, she twines her arms around his neck to whisper in his ear. His eyes widen in comprehension as she steps away from him, still holding his hands in hers,  memorising his face, wishing she had a camera. He looks so similar to when she first met him — it’s only a few months away for him — but she pushes that particular thought away._

_Dropping his hands, she blows him a kiss as Paris vanishes._

Darcy drifts back to wakefulness, aware she fell asleep — and into memories — on Steve’s shoulder. She’s about to announce her intention to go to bed when Steve clears his throat. “I wasn’t going to tell you yet, but Darce, I heard back from Fury, finally. About working for SHIELD.”

Darcy draws back, cocks her head at the odd tone in his voice. “And?”

“And they want me, for sure. But I’m going to be based in Washington.”

“Oh.” There’s a lot more she could say — wants to say, but none of it seems appropriate.

“I did ask if I could stay in New York, but that doesn’t work for what they want me to do.”

“My little Stevie, all grown up and leaving town! Why, it seems like just weeks ago when you were waist-high and getting into fights up and down Brooklyn!" He snorts at her thinly-veiled reference to her travelling. Glad to see him smile, she drops the teasing tone. "When do you leave?”

“The paperwork’s been processed already. I’ll move as soon as we get back to New York. I know it’s short notice, but-”

Darcy punches him lightly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re going to be doing something. We can make a road trip out of it! You still can’t drive for peanuts.”

“I’m not that bad,” Steve protests.

“Indicators, Steve. Not optional. Neither are the give way rules.”

“In my defence, the Nazis didn’t give way.”

“Oh sure, pull the war hero card. Tell you what, we’ll take dad's old Ford out tomorrow, make it a special holiday episode of Blond, Dumb Blond.”

“It’s going to be the last one for a while,” Steve notes with a rueful laugh. “Somehow, I don’t think Fury will be as gullible as Tony.”

“He’s the one that looks like the pirate, right?”

“If you ever meet him, please say that to his face. I want photos.”

“Deal.”


	25. January 2013

They never got that flyby.

Steve and Darcy were snoozing off yet another food coma at her parents' when the Mandarin destroys Tony Stark’s mansion. They hightail it back to the Tower, spend Christmas Day listening to JARVIS report on the rescue of the President. In between cursing Tony for not asking for help (Steve) and convincing Steve that piggybacking on one of the Iron Legion to the Norco was not a good idea (Darcy), they managed to get Steve’s belongings packed and ready to move. He doesn't really have that much, as the Tower suites came fully-furnished.

Only once Tony and Pepper are safely back at the Tower and recovering do they make the drive up to Washington. SHIELD found Steve an apartment the size of his living room in the Tower; they spend New Year’s Eve sorting his mountains of books and putting together some furniture.

There’s a church nearby that chimes at midnight as Darcy enjoys the sight of Steve tightening the last few screws on a bookshelf for his lounge. “To new beginnings,” she toasts, having poured herself a glass of wine or two when she gave up several hours ago.

He finds his beer bottle, taps it against her glass. It’s not nearly strong enough to get him drunk, but that’s not really the point. The point is that it’s New Year’s Eve- well, New Year’s Day now, she’s oh so slightly tipsy, and handsome, muscular Steve is _right there_ , looking into her eyes.

“Darcy…”

She pulls back, making a face. From the corner of her eye, she can see Steve doing the same.

“Ew. Nope. I can’t, sorry. It’s too weird.”

Steve shakes his head, takes another swig from his bottle. “Gotta agree with you there, Darce.”

She slumps back onto the more-comfortable-than-it-looks couch. “Got any New Years’ resolutions?”

“You said it yourself, Darce. New city, new job, new beginning. Don’t think I need any resolutions. What about you?”

“I’ve been thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to try dating again, you know? Like, I keep thinking of Bucky and all; but come on, Lewis, it’s been almost 70 years.”

Steve looks stricken. “But what about this? What about us?”

She leans forward, willing him to understand. “Steve, you’ll always be my friend, but I reckon this fake relationship has run its course. No-one will be surprised, not with you moving like this. It’s not fair on you, being tied to me like this- not literally, you idiot.”

“But I like being tied to you,” Steve protests, though a smile lurks at the corner of one mouth. “It means I always have a date to Tony’s fundraisers.”

“And when you come back to New York for one of Tony’s fundraisers, I will happily be your date.” She makes a shooing motion. “Be free, baby bird. Fly high.”

Steve laughs. “Alright, Darcy. I will. Now, stop waving the wine glass around before you spill it on my new couch.”

“Spoilsport. I’m _christening_ it. I shall call it squishy and it shall be mine and it shall be my squishy.”

“Nonsense. I bought it, it’s _my_ squishy. You're a Hufflepuff, aren't you?  _Find_ your own.”

“I _knew_ showing you those would come back to haunt me.”

* * *

“You know, and thank you for listening. There’s something about just getting if off my chest and putting it out there in the atmosphere instead of holding this in. I mean, this is what gets people sick. Wow. I had no idea you were such good listeners. To be able to share all my intimate thoughts, my experiences with someone, it just cuts the weight of it in half, you know, it’s like a snake swallowing its own tail. Everything comes from a circle, and the fact that you were able to help me process-”

The sound of Bruce’s glasses dropping startles both Tony _and_ Darcy.

“You were sleeping?” Tony asks, and there’s a flash of hurt that he hides as Bruce makes his excuses.

“Bruce, that was mean,” Darcy scolds. She normally likes the physicist, but after Tony spent a couple of hours pouring out his side of the chaos, the least a guy could do is stay awake! She stretches out her neck and back, then turns to Tony. “But Bruce is right about one thing, Tony. He’s not trained for this. You need to talk to someone who is.”

Tony makes a face. “I think I prefer talking to you guys. Well, Lewis, at the very least, because she’s actually listening to me. Oh! The original wound, I think, was having a nanny at 14 — that was weird…”

He trails off under Darcy’s unimpressed glare. “I don’t know any therapists, Lewis, none who can be trusted to keep their mouth shut. I’ve had enough of my personal life being splashed over the tabloids. Pepper deserves better than that, what with the exploding thing and everything.”

She smiles beatifically. “That’s fine, Tony, I have just the guy in mind and one of his clients just moved to Washington.”


	26. October 1937

Bucky adjusts his collar against the sharp bite of the wind as they leave the boxing gym. “Anything special happening tonight?” he asks, more out of habit than a need to know.

Reg grins. “My pal’s setting me up with a dame he knows, says she’s a real looker. If you want to tag along, I’m sure she could rustle up a friend.”

“What, you think Barnes doesn’t already have a dish on the side?” Mackie asks, lip curled in a sneer.

“I’ve heard he’s all dizzy over a dame who won’t look twice at him,” Evan says. “Hasn’t stepped out with a girl all summer.”

“Is that true?” Reg demands. Bucky shrugs, smiling lightly. “Well then, more for us!”

He begs off the night out, pleading a long day at work today and another ahead tomorrow. Truth is, he’d like to join them, blow off some steam, but he’s head over heels for a dame who can’t — or won’t — stay; no need to give his friends more ammunition. They clatter down into a nearly metro station together as he makes his way home alone.

It’s not the most salubrious of neighbourhoods, but the gym been around here long enough that the locals know not to mess with the regulars. He’s had to knock a few heads together until they got the message, though. It’s a good thing Steve works late at his painting job, else he’d want to tag along too and he’d be coming home with a black eye more often than not.

Bucky halts mid-step as he hears a muffled cry, debates whether to go check it out. He’s no knight in shining armour, and hell, he’s certainly no Steve, but he’s in no mood to let some dame get roughed up on his watch. Retracing his steps, he rounds the corner and stops dead.

* * *

Darcy wraps her scarf tighter around her neck and looks around. Orange streetlights line the dark streets; pedestrians hurry past, well wrapped up against the chill in the air. She’s relieved to see fashions that look vaguely familiar: late 30’s, if she had to take a guess, though it's been a while since she last travelled. She's gone on a few dates in the meantime, but none stuck quite like Bucky had. Deciding to explore — after all, Bucky has to be around here somewhere — she doesn’t quite notice the streets getting narrower, the dark spaces between the streetlights stretching.

She shrieks a little as a hand wraps around her wrist and _yanks_ , though it cuts off when another meaty hand claps over her mouth.

“Now, what’s a hot mama like you doing all by herself, this time of night? What say you and I get to know each other a little better, huh?”

Darcy doesn’t waste time wishing she’d begged Nat for some self-defence lessons. When she gets back, it’ll be the first thing on her list. For now, she has to focus on getting out of this guy’s hold and back to where the streets are a little brighter. Now, what was that acronym?

She jabs one elbow backwards, hears her attacker’s breath whoosh out in an _oof_. Her right foot stomps down on his, _hard_ , though it’s less effective against his boots. Her other elbow slams into his nose with a satisfying _crack_ as her clenched fist goes for the most sensitive part of his anatomy, loosening his hold enough that she forces her way free. Stumbling forward, she looks up, straight at a shocked Bucky.

* * *

Bucky only stares for a moment, is already moving as Darcy shakes off her attacker’s grasp. Relief washes over her face as she recognises him. “Your timing sucks,” she tells him tartly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind one ear with a shaking hand.

He takes one step past her to punch out the greaseball who had been reaching for her, face suffused with rage. His knuckles come away coated in blood; he looks over Darcy in alarm. “Are you hurt?”

She looks at him, confused, then down at herself, and finally at his bloody hand. “Oh! No, that’s his blood. I think I broke his nose.”

“That was pretty impressive, doll,” he tells her, as she tucks her arm in his. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Darcy grins. “From a Miss Gracie Lou Freebush from New Jersey.”

He makes a face. “From _Jersey_? Really?”

“Oh, you New Yorkers,” she laughs lightly, and he is heartily glad that his friends are long gone, for the dopey grin on his face would surely give his feelings away and he’d never hear the end of it.

He has longer than usual before he is expected home; Reg’s eagerness to get going means they left the gym early. As Darcy asks him about the date and about his day, he steers them towards the nearest metro station. He might not want to see his friends, but there are plenty of clubs around, and he’s always wanted to take Darcy dancing.

* * *

Bucky is a surprisingly good dancer and a patient teacher, and he puts up with her hopeless lack of skill for _hours_  until her hourglass burns beneath her blouse. She plants one last kiss on his lips and steps back, watches the smirk on his face melt away, and something inside her breaks.

“Must you go? Can’t you stay just a little longer?”

Guilt wells up inside her, where smug satisfaction had held sway. She's been using him as a temporary fix, a faded patch on her pathetic excuse for a love life. Just because her resolution to date failed months ago doesn't mean she should be doing this to him. She sighs, shakes her head. “Not up to me, Bucko. Sorry.”

“But-”

Whatever he was going to say is swept away with the rest of 1937. When the world fades back into focus, it takes Darcy a moment to recognise what she’s seeing. Jane stands by the door, arms folded, and she looks absolutely _furious_.


	27. September 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long! I promise the fic is not abandoned at all, I just went on holiday and longfic is double-plus not easy on a phone. For those who don't want to do a skim of the last few chapters: Steve moved to Washington for SHIELD, Darcy decided to try dating again, and when she comes back from 1937, Jane's there, and she's Not Happy.

For a long moment, the women stare at each other across the room. It’s been a long time since Darcy has been lost for words, but in the face of her friend’s fury, she finds herself struck speechless.

Jane is holding a book in a white-knuckled grip. It takes Darcy a moment to recognise it as the diary she lost sometime around the Chitauri invasion. “What is this?” Jane demands, and Darcy makes a snap-second decision that she should’ve made a long time.

“It’s my diary. Well, one of them. I know, I should’ve-”

“Time-travel!?” Jane yells, and Darcy winces.

“Janey…”

“Don’t ‘Janey’ me! Is this why you were talking about stable time loops, back in 2011?”

“You remember that?” Darcy asks, then answers her own question. “Of course you remember that, it’s science, but you can’t remember to eat multiple times a day, honestly.”

“Have you forgotten all those movies? Remember Back to the Future? The Butterfly Effect? That Disney film with the evil hat?”

“…the what?”

“That is _not the point!_ The point is that you dragged me along to so many movies about the dangers of time travel and yet you _still_ did it!”

“Oh, that’s a bit much, coming from you. How’s your Einstein-Rosen bridge coming along?”

Jane pales. “Yeah, sure, blame the wormhole. But we were looking at that _together_! You told me the time-travel was hypothetical! You lied to me, and I believed you, and I wouldn’t even know if I hadn’t needed the lens from my old oscillator!” Her gaze zeroes in on Darcy’s clothes. “You’ve been sneaking off all this time, haven’t you?”

Darcy nods. “Yeah, but this was the first time in months…”

“And what, you’re trying to save Bucky Barnes? Change the past?”

Darcy blinks away the sudden rush of tears. “Not anymore. I mean, I was, but I stopped. Steve says I didn’t save him; I’m not going against a first-hand account of what happened.”

Jane’s eyes narrow. “Is _that_ how you know Steve? Not your little met-by-chance sometime last year?”

The look on Darcy’s face is surely enough to answer her question. “Janey, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was stupid and selfish.”

“Yeah, it was. What if you’d gotten hurt, or worse, disappeared?”

“JARVIS keeps Tony informed pretty well, but apart from his experimenting last year, it’s all gone exactly as expected.”

“As expected? Tony knows? Of course, he does, he’s the one who started this. So he’s been using you as some sort of lab rat? That- has the man ever heard of ethical approval?”

“What do you mean? He does his inventing thing all the time.”

“Yes, but he experiments on _himself_. That’s different. If anyone gets hurt, it’s him. The- the _cheek_ of the man!” She seemed to be getting more and more worked up the more she talked.

“Jane, it’s fine! The worst I ever got was 20 minutes in the snow. I mean, I wish I could choose where I went, but-”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Yeah, we’re still working out if there’s a pattern to where I end up, it’s pretty interesting…”

“You just _disappear_ into the past? And he _lets_ you?”

“It’s not so much he lets me,” Darcy sniffs. “I don’t need his permission or anything. He’s set it up so I can go whenever I want.”

Jane’s mouth shuts with a snap. “That’s _it_.”

Still holding Darcy’s diary, she stomps out of the room. Darcy has to run to catch up with her as she storms down the corridor to Tony’s lab. At first glance the lab looks empty; a few steps in, she spots him folded over one of his bots, gently snoring.

The snores cut off into a pained yelp when she grabs him by the ear and twists. “I didn’t know- Dr Foster?”

“You’ve been using Darcy as your lab rat, Stark? Do you have any standards?”

“H- hey, she volunteered! I paid her hazard pay and everything.”

“That doesn’t make it right! Tell me, Stark, did you ever actually study, or are all of those degrees in acknowledgement of your dad’s money?”

Stark puffs up. “I’ll have you know I earned all my degrees. Well, except the PhD from Cambridge, that was-”

“Did you ever do a course in ethics?”

“Yes, but-”

“Did they ever cover _human experimentation_? What the hell makes you think any of this was okay? Testing your time travel on Darcy?”

“Hold on,” Darcy says. “I thought you were mad at me?”

Jane pushes her hair out of her face. “I am. But I am more mad at him, because instead of running this past an ethics committee, he tests it on you and thinks it’s okay because he _paid_ you.” Her voice softens. “I know how hard up your mom was while we were in New Mexico, I don’t blame you for taking the money. I blame him for thinking he could solve his problem by tossing money at it.”

Tony goes very still, the accusation apparently hitting too close to home. “I think you forget that same money is funding your research, Dr Foster.”

“That’s fine, Mr Stark. I quit. Give my grant money to some deserving charity instead.”

Darcy’s jaw drops. “But, Jane-”

“No, I can’t work here anymore. I had my doubts after what happened over Christmas, but this makes it clear. You’re egotistical, thoughtless, selfish, and thoughtless.”

“Janey, that’s not fair.”

“Oh, you’re taking his side, then?”

“No, Jane-”

“That’s probably for the best, seeing as I don’t have the money to pay you anymore.”

She sweeps out of the room, leaving a deep silence behind her. Darcy’s shaking; when she notices, she drops onto a nearby bench. Tony’s staring at her with an odd look on his face but she has the feeling he’s not really seeing her.

“She’s right, isn’t she? You were there and I took advantage; I never even thought about the risk. I was happy to put it together and let you go off on your own, just another of my experiments I didn’t have to keep an eye on…”

She snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Tony. Focus. I’m a big girl, I can make my own choices, and I wanted to do this.”

“If I had done a proper risk assessment, you wouldn’t.”

“Maybe not, but we’re way past that now.”

His eyes continue to look through her; with a sigh, she instructs JARVIS to call Pepper. “Science is over for today, Tony.”

He doesn’t put up more than a token resistance when she points him towards the elevator. With him taken care of, she goes in search of Jane. Unsurprisingly, she’s in her lab, packing.

“Jane?”

“Darcy, pass me that lens, would you?”

“So you’re really leaving?”

“I meant what I said. I can’t work here anymore. Sure, I’ll miss the budget, but I’ll make do. I always do.”

“But where will you go?”

“I checked - there’s an Institute in London that has offered me a position with housing included.”

“In _London_?”

Jane drops a packet of post-its in the box and finally faces her. “I need to get out of here, the further, the better. I stayed here because I hoped Thor would come back, but it’s pretty obvious that isn’t going to happen anytime soon. This entire thing has been an exercise in getting over him and I think I’m finally ready to move on.”

“Can I- Can I come with you?”

“Do you really want to leave?”

Flashes of Bucky, laughing, joking, leaning in for a kiss. She’s been meaning to move on, to start dating again, but - she hesitates.

Jane’s face hardens. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Stay here; I’m sure Stark will keep paying you as long as you keep providing him data for his weird science.”

“Hey, I’m not just a lab rat. I’m your assistant.”

“Yeah, you fetch coffee and badger me to sleep. I’m sure I’ll be okay without you. I certainly managed without an intern for long enough.”

Darcy snaps her mouth shut before she says something she’ll regret.

* * *

“Hi, I’m calling about the intern position? The name’s Boothby, Ian Boothby. I’ve sent my CV in and was wondering when I would hear back?”

“Seriously? Dude, we received your application like less than an hour ago.”

“Uh… I was hoping being prompt would make me look good. Efficient-like. I really want this.”

“You do realise this is an unpaid position?”

“I know, I don’t need the money but the chance to work with Dr Foster… we’ve looked at some of her work in class and it’s fascinating. The very idea that-”

“Okay, well you have the interest side down. I gotta warn you, it’s not just research assistant work. You have to make the coffee, make sure she eats, and most importantly-”

“Yes?”

“Don’t let her know that I’m the one who hired you.”


	28. August 1923

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* I'm not dead!

The Tower is quiet without Jane. Somehow, the mainstays of Darcy’s life have one-by-one disappeared: Jane is in London, Steve is in Washington, and Tony is spending less and less time in the lab. Bruce is still working, but he does not require anywhere near their level of supervision. At first, she enjoys the break, then she gets bored.

Even so, it takes a few weeks before she has the heart to go travelling again. When she does, she finds that Tony has dismantled the pedestal.

“Much as I hate to admit it and please don’t spread this around, Dr Foster was right,” he insists, when she confronts him. “I shouldn’t have used you. You’re a good kid, Lewis. I’ve set up an account - off-shore, so you don’t have to pay tax on it -  whatever you want to do now, it should give you some options.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Maybe. The money’s not yours, per se, but you have access to it? Pepper worked out the technicalities so it should be fine. If you want to move to Washington, it should keep you going for a while.”

“To Washington?”

“Yeah, isn’t that where Rogers is? Don’t worry, I’ve deleted the files about this. No chance of some enterprising tabloid digging them up.”

The relief of having the money thing vetted by Pepper vanishes at this latest piece of information. “You- you just deleted the files? All of them?”

“Yeah, shouldn’t have kept them in the first place, once the flaws became apparent. No commercial application, too unreliable for further scientific study. But it’s okay, you can keep the hourglass. We’ve got the patent application pending - there're a few applications of the auto-chronic heating that have the guys downstairs buzzing.”

“I- okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

Mind in a whirl, Darcy stumbles away. She’d seen how Jane’s words had affected Tony, but she hadn’t expected him to go this far. She has no idea how to rebuild the pedestal, and without it, she’ll never travel again, never see Bucky again… A sob builds up at the back of her throat.

“Miss Lewis, you appear to be in some distress.”

Her head snaps up at the polite voice. “I- uh-”

“Shall I inform sir?”

“Please don’t. I’m - I’m sure he meant well.”

“Are you referring to his decision to discontinue the pedestal project?”

“Yeah, he sure doesn’t do things by halves, does he?”

“That would indeed be an accurate assessment. I did try to dissuade him, citing the enjoyment you take from this experiment, but he seemed to think Captain Rogers’ presence in the present would be sufficient.”

“It’s okay, J. You did your best. I appreciate the effort.”

“If I may?”

“Yeah?”

“Sir seems to have forgotten the prototype pedestal in the old labs.”

Sudden hope blooms in Darcy’s chest. “And you didn’t tell him?”

“Sir has on occasion forbidden me from sharing extraneous information. I judged this to be so in this instance.”

“J, you’re the best!”

* * *

It’s a bright, sunny day. There’s barely anyone around, no handy newspaper stands. There’s a young boy out front of the row of houses with a toy gyroscope, staring. Probably saw her appear out of thin air. Oops.

“Hey kid, what’s the date?”

He blinks at her once, twice, then yells. “Ma, what’s the date?”

Before Darcy can do more than wince at the volume, a familiar woman appears at the door, toddler on her hip. “James Buchanan Barnes, what have I told you about yelling?”

"But Ma-" Bucky protests, and that’s when she notices Darcy.

"Oh, hello. I'm Winnifred, Bucky's mother.”

Darcy smiles. “Nice to meet you. I'm Darcy, and this must be Becky.”

Winnifred Barnes’ eyes go wide. “How- yes, this is my Rebecca. Won't you please come in?”

Darcy thinks about refusing, but she has nowhere else to go and she only just arrived. Besides, she’s always wanted to meet Bucky as a child. He’s adorable: floppy brown hair and chubby cheeks. If she squints, she can see traces of the man he will be, but that is years away. For now, he’s waist-high and tugging at her hand.

“Darcy, come on.”

She follows him inside, leaving the door open behind her at Winn’s request. It makes sense — it’s a hot day and air-conditioning isn’t really a thing yet. Bucky dances around her ankles with impatience. “Come and see my car.”

Smiling, she lets herself be tugged towards an empty fireplace, a little toy car sitting on the hearth. It’s not the same house she remembers from Bucky’s birthday - they must have moved, or will move, in the next few years. This is messing up her tenses and Bucky’s childish enthusiasm isn’t helping one bit. The fight with Jane, the battle of New York, Bucky’s death: all in the past, for her, but right here, right now, it’s the future.

"You seem distracted," Winn says, pouring her a drink. Becky clutches a doll and stares at her, brown eyes large and curious.

“I-” Darcy sighs and takes a seat beside the older woman. “Winn, what advice would you give, when two friends have a fight?”

Winn looks at her hard, then her gaze flicks sideways to where Bucky is driving his car down the hallway and pretending not to listen in. “What was the fight about?”

“I- I can’t say. But things were said. Hurtful things, but they weren’t wrong, just a little hypocritical.”

“Are they good friends?"

"Absolutely," Darcy replies with conviction.

"Then someone needs to apologise. It doesn’t matter who." Winn raises her voice a little. “Because friends say sorry and forgive each other.”

Darcy nods, a wry twist to her lips. "Ok. Thanks."She stays a bit longer, chatting about inconsequentialities, until her hourglass warms. "I have to go," she tells Winn, as she rises to her feet. "It was lovely to meet you. Thank you for your hospitality."

"My pleasure," Winn replies, hastening to hold the door open for her. The sunlight is warm on her skin as she steps outside, mentally composing a letter. She’s never been good at apologies but she knows what she has to do.


	29. October 2013

Darcy leans on the intercom and hopes she got the right lab. It’s a good thing Tony has a townhouse in London, one he didn’t mind her borrowing. Her letter had come back unopened, “return to sender” scribbled across the front in Jane’s nearly-unreadable scrawl. After a minute, the door swings open, revealing some young guy who is definitely not Jane.

“Yeah?”

“I’m looking for Dr Foster?”

“She’s busy, I’m her intern.”

She narrows her eyes - he sounds familiar. “Ian?”

His forehead creased in confusion. “Do I know you?”

“Not really. We only talked on the phone once, when I hired you for this.”

“Oh! I thought you didn’t want - oh, come in. Dr Foster’s in the back room. She thinks she’s onto something big.”

Darcy hesitates. “You know, I’ll come back later.” She grabs an old receipt from her pocket, scribbles the number of the SIM card she picked up at the airport. “If you need help or anything, you can call me, kay?”

She berates herself for being a coward the entire taxi ride back.

* * *

It’s the kind of break she’d use to go see Bucky — if he wasn’t several decades in the past and accessible via the other side of the Atlantic. Instead, she is catching up on her tv watching when her phone rings. Digging it out from between sofa cushions, she puts the tv on mute. “Yeah?”

“Hi, uh, is this the woman who visited earlier? Didn’t catch your name but listen, Dr Foster’s gone missing…”

A frisson of fear shoots down her spine and Darcy sits up straight. “Missing? What happened?”

“Well, we were getting some strange readings and went to investigate this storage facility outside London. Dr Foster was pretty excited, said she’d seen something similar a couple of years ago.”

Darcy groans, grabbing her wallet. “A couple of years ago was New Mexico.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Stay there,” Darcy orders. “And gimme the address. I’m on my way.”

* * *

“Gravity was going crazy,” Ian explains, when she arrives. “It was like there were these portals opening up all over the place — one of them ate our car keys — then I turn around and one of them swallows Dr Foster and she’s gone!” He’s sweet, in a panicked kind of way.

“How long ago was this?” Jane wouldn’t like it, but this might be bigger than either of them can handle. Darcy is considering calling the police or someone to put them in contact with the local version of SHIELD.

Ian’s attempt at answering is interrupted by a voice from inside. “Ian? Are you there?”

“Yeah I am and -” he turns to Darcy. “What do I tell her?”

Instead of replying directly, Darcy raises her voice. “Jane? Are you okay?”

“Wha- Darcy? What are you doing here?” Jane stumbles out, one hand cradling her head. “I am still in London, right?”

“Yeah, you are. I was in the area…”

Jane narrows her eyes at her, then winces, wobbling slightly. Instinctively, Darcy goes to steady her — and goes flying on a wave of red energy. Luckily, Ian breaks her fall and they are tossed into the wall together. She rolls to her feet to see Jane laid out on her back, groaning.

“Ugh, what was that?” Jane mutters, tossing one hand over her eyes.

“Seriously freaky is what is it was,” Darcy tells her, hands on her hips. “I came here to apologise, but I reckon we’re about equal now.”

Jane levers herself up onto her elbows and glares. “Had enough of gallivanting around space and time?”

“Not really, but I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it, I - are you even listening?” Following Jane’s distracted gaze, she spots a familiar figure in a red cape. “Oh.”

“Who’s that?” Ian asks as the new arrival helps Jane to her feet.

Darcy shoots him a look. “You’re kidding, right? That’s Thor!” At his blank look, she keeps going. “One of the Avengers? Helped in the Battle of New York?”

“I don’t keep up with American politics.”

“Neither do I, but this - fine.” She fills him in as Jane slaps Thor - twice - and watches in shock as he puts one arm around her and they both disappear in a beam of light. “So much for the big reunion.”

“What, Dr Foster and Thor?”

“No, me and - you know, never mind. He’s probably taken her to Asgard to get better. We’ll just go back into town and sit tight until they come back.”

“What about the portals? Dr Foster said they seemed to be a symptom of something bigger.”

Darcy closes her eyes, inhales deeply, then exhales. “Let me rephrase. We’ll just go back into town, recharge my phone, and call for some help to work out what is going on.”

“Look, I’ve still got battery.”

“Yeah, but do you have Tony Stark’s number?”

* * *

As it turns out, Tony is grounded by his lack of suits and can’t offer much more help than Jarvis’s in analysing the gravitational anomalies. Steve is away on some mission, or so she assumes. SHIELD aren’t even answering their phone. They’re about out of options when they spot Dr Selvig on the news. It’s easy enough to break him out, less simple to understand the Convergence, though Darcy’s fairly sure Ian understands more than she does.

She understands better when Jane returns and explains it, and then there’s no more time for explanations — there’s tears and garbled apologies and portals and evil elves and cars falling from the sky and she’s kissing Ian from the sheer relief of being alive and as the dust settles, there’s a phone call from Steve.

“Yeah?” she answers.

“Darce, I just saw the news about London and all your missed calls - are you okay?”

Darcy looks over at Jane, who gives her a tired smile in return. “Yeah, I think so.”

 


	30. December 2013

“How long are you staying this time?”

“My parents have the rest of the nine realms — and my brother — well in hand. They have given me leave to stay on Midgard for the foreseeable future. What of yourself? How long will you remain in this Kingdom?”

Darcy tries not to eavesdrop, but it’s a small apartment and Thor’s voice tends to carry. To be fair, she’s not trying very hard.

“I - I don’t know. They say they’re open to renewing my contract here…”

“And what of friend Stark?”

Darcy decides she’s had enough of eavesdropping. “I’ve talked to him. He’s kept your lab and our apartments intact,” she informs her friends. “You can walk right back into your position at SI.”

“What if I don’t want to go back?” Jane shoots back. They’ve had this conversation in one form or another a few times over the last few weeks, and it always ends the same. Jane’s stubbornness has her digging her heels in and Darcy has a hard time keeping her emotions in check. This is the first time that Thor’s been here to mediate.

“What is it about returning that distresses you so? Surely it cannot be the accommodations, for the Tower of Stark is most comfortable.” Thor doesn’t look pointedly around Jane’s poky London flat. He doesn’t need to.

“It’s Tony,” Jane says flatly. “He’s overbearing and pushy and doesn’t care about anyone else!”

Thor motions Darcy to quiet where she would normally jump to Tony’s defence. “All these may be true, but are they truly what troubles you so?”

Jane, who brightened at Thor’s agreement, deflates like a popped balloon. “He stole my intern,” she mutters. “I can live with the crazy inventions, but then he got you so tangled up you’re still not over it!”

Darcy flinches. True, her relationship with Ian fizzled once the immediate danger was past, but she wasn’t that bad, was she?

“The Lady Darcy is of an age where she can make her own decisions, is she not?” Thor asks gently.

“I’ve helped you in heaps of your mad science,” Darcy reminds her.

“Yes, but that’s different! He —” Jane sighs. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

“You kinda are.”

“I don’t like being wrong.”

Darcy shrugs. “Happens to the best of us. You want me to tell Tony to dust off your lab?”

“Yeah, but if he breaks any of my machines I’ll take one of his precious droids apart.”

As threats go, it’s pretty effective. Tony pales and promises he’ll have Jarvis supervise the cleaning crew. Darcy calls Steve with the good news then forges Jane’s signature to give Ian a glowing letter of recommendation. It’s the least she can do.

* * *

Thanks to Jane's numerous international speaking engagements, Darcy is quite proficient at chartering Stark Industries’ private jets. Within hours of Jane's capitulation, they are homeward bound above the Atlantic.

They arrive in the States just in time for Darcy to invite them both, plus Steve, to her parents’ place for Hanukkah. Remembering the mess they got caught up in the year before, Darcy invites Tony and Pepper to join them. From there, it's a short step to inviting Bruce, Natasha, and Clint as well.

The latter two send their apologies and everyone takes bets on the reason why during a lazy afternoon at the Lewis family home. Steve thinks they have a mission. Darcy figures they had private plans already booked. Tony is convinced Clint has a secret family in the middle of nowhere - well, the secret family was Jane's idea and Tony ran with it.

Darcy's parents aren't thrilled to be hosting so many people at short notice, but everyone chips in to pay for the extra food and all the Avengers help out in the kitchen. Thor will do menial jobs with cheer if someone keeps him company. That someone is usually Jane, trying to smooth over the argument with Darcy by learning at Liz Lewis's elbow. Bruce proves to have a gift for unusual but delicious spice combinations. Tony can't help but try to improve every recipe and the results are sometimes amazing, sometimes inedible, and always hilarious. Pepper can burn water and takes charge of the dishes instead. Darcy... Darcy uploads _Blond, Dumb Blond: Kitchen Edition_ and institutes a ban on electronics to prevent the others from noticing Steve's adventures with meat thermometers, corn peelers, and avocado slicers making the front page.

A couple of weeks later finds them all, still excluding Natasha and Clint, back at the Tower to celebrate Christmas and ring in the New Year.

“It’s been a busy year,” Darcy tells Steve, as they watch the fireworks at midnight. “You moving to Washington, the fight with Jane, Thor and the evil elves... I hope next year quietens down a bit.”


	31. March 2014

To be fair to Darcy, the year does start slowly. Jane’s back at the lab, and her presence inspires Tony to return to tinkering, much to Pepper’s secret relief. Steve returns to Washington, no doubt disappointing thousands of **Blond, Dumb Blond** fans who were temporarily buoyed by their one-video return. He’s always off on missions with Natasha and they have been photographed together several times. No outlet has managed to ID the mysterious redhead (and no SHIELD agent is stupid enough to leak that information) but the media insists on painting her and Darcy as rivals vying for Steve's love.

"It makes me kinda uncomfortable," she confides in Steve during a Skype call. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing going on between you two and I know there's nothing romantic between us, but as long as this rumour is flying around, I can't help but feel that she's going to kill me in my sleep or something just to keep her reputation intact."

"Nat wouldn't do that," scoffs the super soldier who has a chance at surviving an attack from the Black Widow. "And no, there's nothing between us. I'd tell you if I were stepping out with anyone. Tell you what, she's down your way next week. I'll give her your number so you can set up a coffee date and get this all settled." Before Darcy can convince him not to go through with it, he signs off.

* * *

Three days later, her phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number. _Meet 2 pm on Saturday at Tea & Sympathy on Greenwich Ave. Dress nice. NR_

Texts for clarification go unanswered but a quick Google brings up a cute tea shop downtown. After a quiet freak out to Jane, she settles down to wait for Saturday. A quick look at her wardrobe reveals her usual jeans-and-tank-top style is not going to cut it. All her nice dresses are on what she calls the 1940’s side of her closet — but hey, vintage is in, right? On the day, she pins her hair into period-appropriate curls and does a full face of makeup - if she dies today, she'll die looking pretty.

She takes a cab there, and is greeted by a smiling Natasha waiting outside. “Darcy! It’s so good to see you!”

“You too,” Darcy agrees, confused. The other woman might have eaten her baking when they’d both lived in the Tower previously, but they had never been close. Certainly not close enough to warrant the air kisses Natasha is brushing over her cheeks or the arm she loops through hers as they go in. “What are we doing?”

“Keep smiling,” Natasha advises her as they are directed to a table by the window. “The girl by the counter just took a photo of us. You have quite a following, did you know?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. The public love a good girl-next-door dating a celebrity story. At least three photographers got a shot of us outside.”

“But I’m not dating Steve. We’ve been officially broken up for over a year. Everyone thinks he’s dating you!” Darcy pauses. “You’re not, are you?”

“Of course not. It doesn’t matter. The truth doesn’t sell as well as a love triangle. Catfights and broken hearts, that sort of thing.” Natasha takes a sip of water and studies the menu. “No ham sandwiches, right? That’s fine, the watercress ones are lovely.”

Feeling rather silly, Darcy recalls the worry she poured out to Steve and then Jane. There’s still a chance that Natasha is going to poison her tea in this charming little shop, but it’s becoming increasingly unlikely. “So by being photographed having tea together, we’re killing the love triangle?”

“Something like that. No rumour dies completely, but that’s the general idea.”

“Aren’t you worried about being photographed? You know, being a spy and all.”

“It’s not ideal,” Natasha admits. “But it seems to be a side-effect of being around Steve. I’ve made sure anyone who does any serious digging will find Natalie Rushman worked at Stark Industries for several months before moving to Washington, but no one has gotten that far yet. Most people are outraged at me stealing him away from you.”

Darcy groaned. “Would it go away if he gets an actual girlfriend?”

“Possibly. Of course, that requires him to get the aforementioned girlfriend. Outside of work, the only woman he spends a significant amount of time with is you.”

“That boy is hopeless,” Darcy mutters. “Any neighbours?”

“Ah - a nurse across the hall. He mentioned her moving in sometime last year.”

 Spy and intern share a look across the table in perfect agreement and the conversation moves on from organising Steve’s love life to the latest lab antics at Stark Tower. The sun streams in through the window as the shadows lengthen. The tea is sweet, the sandwiches tasty, and the dessert delightful. First the first time in what seems like forever, Darcy realises that she’s happy.


	32. March 1923

Darcy takes a deep breath and meets Jane’s eyes through the open door of the converted closet in the old labs. “Are you ready?”

“Why are you asking me if I’m ready? You’re the one launching herself through time.”

“Yes, but I’ve been doing this for years. This is your first time observing.”

“Are you sure you can’t take some readings with my spectrometer?”

“Only if you’re prepared for it to come back as slag.”

Jane hugs her spectrometer to her chest and takes a step backwards, which Darcy takes as agreement.

“Okay, so my cellphone is in the cubby and I have my hourglass. All I do is press the button like this, and voila.” Suiting action to words, Darcy pushes the button and watches her friend and the closet fade away.

* * *

She doesn’t recognise her surroundings when she lands. It’s a residential street that could be anywhere but looks vaguely Brooklyn-ish. Choosing a direction at random, Darcy starts walking. She passes a newsie — not Bucky, this time — and surreptitiously looks at the date when he hopefully shoves it in her direction. It’s early, earlier than she’s ever been before, but still within Bucky’s lifetime. The Barnes would likely be living at the building she saw last time. Unfortunately, she has no idea of the address. Going with her gut, she walks in a sort of spiral from her landing point, figuring that Bucky must be somewhere nearby. Just as she reckons he’s inside one of the buildings she has passed, she turns down the next street and is faced with a more familiar sight.

Chubby-cheeked Bucky Barnes is running his car down the pavement towards her, in parallel with the full-sized versions of his toy. There’re a few pedestrians who must step around him, he is so intent on his game. Getting closer, she can hear him adding sound effects, and she takes a second to store the image away for her memories.

There must be a snag in the pavement, or maybe his shoelace was loose, because all of a sudden Bucky trips, his car shooting sideways. He grabs for it and fails, then quickly gets to his feet to follow it into the road.

Right into the path of an oncoming Ford motor car.

It’s as if everything slows down in that moment. Darcy can see the driver, head turned to talk to his passenger, who has noticed Bucky but can do no more than tug at the driver’s arm. The pedestrians around are turning, staring, and someone screams.

Darcy doesn’t stop to think. Perhaps she can’t save Bucky in 1944, but she can save him now. She runs across the road, scooping him up and sending them both crashing to the ground on the other side of the street.

Everything speeds up again. The car screeches to a halt and a crowd begins to form, but all Darcy can focus on is the boy in her arms.

“Are you okay there, buddy?”

“M’name's not Buddy, it’s Bucky,” Bucky says, pushing his way out of her hold. “Who’re you?”

Her heart does an odd double-thump in her chest at the question and she stands, brushing her dress off. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky. My name is Darcy. Are you hurt?”

“Naw but my car is broken! And it was a birthday present…” His lower lip wobbles dangerously.

Darcy pats his shoulder comfortingly and thinks of the future. “I’m sure your Ma will get you another one.” Speaking of Winn, Darcy can see her pushing her way through the crowd, her face frantic with worry. Darcy bends to Bucky’s level, aware of the heat of her hourglass against her chest. “Now, Bucky, you be good for your Ma, okay?”

At his solemn nod, she straightens and steps backwards. “Good-bye, Bucky.”

“Bye, Darcy!” he says, as the rest of the world fades away.

* * *

“Darcy! Darcy, are you okay?” Jane springs to her feet and nearly topples over in her haste to get to her.

Confused, Darcy wipes a hand beneath her eyes and is surprised to find wetness on her cheeks. “No, I’m — I don’t know.” For Bucky, that was the beginning, she was sure, but for her, it felt an awful lot like an ending. “I don’t think I want to travel anymore, Janey. I think I’m done.”

Jane nods and enfolds her in a tentative hug as Darcy takes a shuddering breath. “Up to you, Darce, I’ll back you either way. Are you sure?”

“Not really,” Darcy admits. “But I gotta give it up sometime, right? It’s just — I’m going to miss him.”

One arm still around her, Jane passes her phone to her from the cubby. “I know the feeling. Chocolate chip cookie dough? I think we have a couple of pints in the freezer.”

Darcy nods. The tears are drying as they leave the old labs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm moving into a new flat and starting a new job over the weekend, so apologies if updates get a bit disjointed for a while. I'll do my best not to leave it on a cliffhanger for any significant period of time!


	33. April 11 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeere we go! I've had split the next little while over a few chapters and will try not to leave you hanging for too long...

Darcy’s not worried when Steve doesn’t pick up the phone. She’s a little peeved, sure. After all, she’s set to visit Washington in a few days and wants to know if she can crash at his place or with Natasha.

Since their high tea together, the two women have become quite good friends, much to Steve’s discomfort. Though he doesn’t know her that well, he calls Nat his _babushka_ and Darcy his _yenta_ and has sternly informed Clint that he does not need a granny. The only thing that has kept the archer from assuming that role anyway is his frequent absence.

Instead of stewing over what is almost certainly a routine mission, Darcy finishes packing and goes to the common floor to brainstorm more ideas for **Blond, Dumb Blond**. She puts the tv on in the background on some 24-hour news channel and keeps half an ear out for her phone.

The words ‘Captain America’ catch her attention and she turns the tv up. It’s showing a live feed of three figures at gunpoint. In shock, she recognises Steve and Nat, but not the last man, as they are herded into a nondescript black van. “Jarvis? Tony? You need to see this,” she yells. The tv starts to play clips of a fight that must’ve taken place minutes before the scene she saw.

By the time Tony is there, she is sick to her stomach and scared in a way she hasn’t been for a long time. “I don’t understand.”

“There must’ve been some sort of mixup,” Tony says, though he doesn’t sound sure.

“Just in case,” Darcy says. “Just in case, should you check on the others?” She can’t help but be glad that Thor has taken Jane to meet with the astronomers of Vanaheim and they won’t be back for a few months. “Heimdall? If you can hear me, can you tell Jane and Thor to stay put? Something really weird is going on.” There’s no reply, but she didn’t expect one.

Tony finishes talking with Jarvis and turns back to her. “Bruce is in the building and Pepper is on her way back. Barton’s off the grid. Rogers and Romanoff we know. Who else?”

Darcy shrugs and names a few more of his employees, then some more. It’s a little surprising how many of them she knows. She has the strangest desire to gather them all up and keep them somewhere safe, but that’s ridiculous. These people have lives of their own.

“I can order an all-hands-on-deck,” Tony offers when she voices her hesitations. “You know, everyone eats and sleeps here. We normally do it before a major product launch and Pepper hates the paperwork, but it’d do the trick.”

“No, I can’t do that to them on a hunch.”

“It’s not a hunch, we just saw Cap getting arrested. Something’s wrong.”

She worries her lip between her teeth. “Not yet,” she decides. “I’ll text Steve. If this is a mistake, he’ll call back soon enough and we’ll know not to worry.” When Tony’s not looking, she also sends concerned messages over the DM functions on Facebook, Whatsapp, Snapchat, Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram just in case. It’s a little surprising how many message apps she has, to be honest, but all of them remain steadfastly unread.

* * *

_The Asset rises to consciousness. His mind is blank. Clear. Untroubled. Ready to comply._

_He is briefed on his two-fold mission: protection of key locations and target elimination._

_A tall man in a blue tac suit, face mostly obscured by a helmet._

_A blurry photo of a man with mechanical wings_

_Two women at a cafe. The Handler points a meaty finger at one. “This one is the target to be eliminated.”_

_The Asset nods. Satisfied, the Handler leaves._

_The Asset looks at the other woman in the photo._

* * *

When the call does come, it doesn’t come on Darcy’s normal phone. Instead, it comes on the indestructible, feature-rich superphone that Steve fumbled in **Blond, Dumb Blond: Man vs Smartphone** until Tony gave up and presented him with a pared down version. Darcy had inherited the other, but it was a bit too large for her hands so she mainly used it for media storage and photo taking. She’d almost forgotten it had a Jarvis-encrypted VPN feature.

Darcy pounces on the phone to answer the call. “Steve? Are you okay?”

 There’s a ragged pause, then “It’s Bucky. Darce, he’s alive.”

“What? What do you mean?” Darcy can hear her voice and feel her eyebrows climbing higher and higher, but as much as Steve likes to prank, he wouldn’t bring Bucky into it.

“I - I don’t know if you saw. There was a fight — a guy with a metal arm. Nat says he’s called the Winter Solder, says he’s a legendary Soviet assassin. Only during the fight, his mask was damaged and — it was Bucky, Darce, I swear! But he didn’t know me. Darcy, he tried to _kill_ me.”

Darcy screws her eyes shut to think. “How is he alive? You said you saw him fall.”

“I did, but they never found his body. Whatever Zola did to him, it must’ve kept him alive.”

“Zola?”

“The only Zola I know is Arnim Zola, one of the top scientists within Hydra,” Tony helpfully supplied. “Why are we talking about him? He died years ago.”

Steve must’ve been able to hear Tony because he answers. “Stark? Turns out he wasn’t as dead as everyone thought. He had his memory preserved on miles of magnetic tape, like a rudimentary AI. Nat and I barely survived the meeting.”

He pauses, and Darcy has to prod him into continuing, after putting it on speakerphone. “And? What did he say?”

“He said… he said that Hydra were alive and well inside SHIELD. He said that they have always been there, running things from behind the scenes. He implied they were behind your parents' deaths.” Before Tony can react to this bombshell, Steve drops another. “He says that the helicarriers SHIELD are launching tomorrow will allow them to wipe out threats from atmosphere and all of us are on that list. We’re going in to stop them, but,” his voice breaks slightly, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Darcy looks over at Tony. “You better order all-hands-on-deck.”

Steve has Tony promise not to come flying to DC. “There’s a SHIELD base in New York as well. If Hydra are as deep as we think, the Tower will be a target. We may need a safe place to retreat to. Don’t go to them — we have no idea what defences they may have in place at the New York base.”

A grim-faced Tony agrees, but “We’re going to talk more about my parents when this is over, Rogers.”

“I understand. I —”

Whatever Steve was going to say is cut off by an incredulous voice from his side of the conversation. “Man, are you on the phone? Didn’t they have OpSec in the War?”

“This is important, Sam,” Steve says to the newcomer. “Darcy? Be safe.” With that, the phone call cuts off.

“I’m offended,” Tony grumbles. “How come you get well wishes?

Darcy rolls her eyes as Tony’s coping mechanism kicks in. “Focus, Tony. Let’s get everyone here so you can test out those new defensive measures you thought I hadn’t noticed you putting into place. Have you got a cover story for this all-hands?”

“Um. Talk to Pepper?”

* * *

Darcy calls Pepper as Tony orders Jarvis to alert the SI employees. Some of them were almost certainly plants from various agencies, but if any were threats, at least he’d be able to keep an eye on them. Pepper suggests the early rollout of the newest iteration of the Stark OS as the confused employees begin to trickle in. Satisfied as everyone gets settled, Darcy swings by her rooms to grab her bag and head down to the garage.

“Miss Lewis, where are you going?”

“I thought that’d be obvious, J. I’m going to Washington.”

Thankfully, Jarvis does no more than try and talk her out of going. He points out how many people will be in the Tower and how her people-herding skills will be of assistance. In return, she expresses her faith in his abilities. Truth be told, she almost stays, and if this was just Hydra, she would have. These are her friends and her colleagues, and a small part of her feels guilty for leaving them.

The rest of her is shrieking _Bucky_ , and she has to know the truth.


	34. April 11.5 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so understanding! Love you all and I appreciate each and every one of your comments <3

It’s a 4-hour drive to Washington and Darcy spends all of it arguing her hope away. Bucky’s dead and Steve must be mistaken. It was understandable; he’d just been in a fight. She’s being hysterical and impulsive and wasting her time. She almost turns the borrowed car around six times.

Almost.

When she and Steve were comparing his new and old StarkPhones, they set each other up as trusted contacts. Now, she shamelessly uses the function to track him to an abandoned dam. She drives as close as she can, then grabs her bag and follows the signal until she hits a wall — literally.

Steve picks up after half a ring. “Darcy? Are you okay?”

“You need to let me in.”

“I — where are you?”

“Outside.”

A couple of minutes later, a wide-eyed Steve appears behind a metal grating, the man from earlier at his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

Darcy hoists her bag higher and cocks an eyebrow at him. “Hey Steve, nice to see you too. You look awful. Can I come in?”

* * *

"I know what I saw,” Steve insists after he has performed introductions and Darcy expresses her doubts.

“But that doesn’t make any sense! If he’s alive, why haven’t I —” Darcy stops dead and Steve looks at her in alarm.

“What is it?”

“November 23, 1963.”

“What, the Kennedy assassination?” Sam Wilson asks. “You think your buddy had something to do with that?”

Darcy pulls out her diary and starts googling, much to Sam’s confusion. With each hit, she goes a little paler. “He was there,” she whispers. “All these times, he was there. You said - you said he was an assassin.” Clamping one hand over her mouth, she bolts for the bathroom and empties the meagre contents of her stomach.

“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” Sam demands.

“It’s a long story,” Steve replies, shaken. “And it doesn’t have any bearing on what we need to do tomorrow — well, today. You should get some rest.”

Sam scowls at the unsubtle hint but withdraws. Steve adds another person to his list of people who need explanations, then goes to hold Darcy’s hair off her face as she retches into the toilet.

“They must’ve done something to him, something to make him do those things,” she says when the heaving stops. “Something bad.”

Steve can’t say anything to that, because she’s right, and thinking about it too hard hurts his head and his heart. “All this time,” he murmurs. “Peggy did say they never found his body. I shoulda looked. He said to the end of the line but I gave up on him.”

“Not your fault,” Darcy insists. “You had a war to win.” There’s a bitter twist to her mouth. “You’re not the one who should’ve worked it out earlier.”

“That he was alive? Darcy, you -”

She halts him with a raised finger. “Can we not talk about this in the bathroom?”

“Sorry, I -”

“Hey. No blaming yourself until we get this sorted, kay?” She waits for his nod before continuing. “Gimme a sec on my own then I’ll get out of your hair.”

* * *

“Not sure you made the right move here, Darce,” he tells her when she emerges from the bathroom. That’s Steve-speak for _you didn’t make the right move_ , only he’s too polite to say it out loud. From the set of his jaw, he doesn’t want to continue the conversation from earlier.

Darcy rolls with it. For now. “Any move specifically or in general?”

“I tell you there are traitors in SHIELD and you drive out here, away from the safety of the Tower, to a secret base that is technically committing treason tomorrow.”

She shrugs and takes the plunge. “I needed to talk to you and I figured you might need to talk as well. What are you going to do?”

“I can’t say, you know that.”

“Not your mission, silly. About Bucky.”

His name drops into the space between them and she swears she sees Steve flinch.

“I — I don’t know,” he admits, looking down at his hands. “I know what I have to do, but… I don’t want to fight him. I don’t know if I can.”

Darcy sighs. “You might have to. Best case, it’s not him. It probably isn’t.” This is a blatant lie and they both know it.

“But if it is?”

“Then he would want you to get the job done. Save the world and all that jazz. After that, it’s up to you. Worse case scenario, I drag you two out of the fight by your ears.”

“You’re no help,” Steve grumbles, though a smile lurks at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for coming here, Darcy. Even if Hill is going to skin you alive.”

“She can try. Is there somewhere for me to sleep?”

He motions to next door. “The rooms on that side are vacant.”

“Got it.” Giving him a wan smile, Darcy picks up her bag and opens the door. “Good night, Steve.”

* * *

Memories are funny things. Erase them, yank them out by the roots, and still they grow back time and time again, like a particularly invasive weed. Deny them sustenance, however, give them nothing to cling onto and they wither and fade on their own.

Captain America had proved more troublesome than the HYDRA scientists had anticipated, triggering the Asset’s memories far faster then they would’ve liked. This time, they take care to scrub away any hint of Captain America, so the memories would find no place to hold on. They reasoned time and distance would have washed away any other links to the Asset’s past.

They reasoned wrong.


	35. April 12 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is no trick - I've had the entire weekend to wrangle this chapter into a semblance of order and I'm finally happy with it. Enjoy!

In the cold light of day (presumably, as she’s still deep underground), Darcy begins to have second thoughts. Even if it is Bucky, and it fits too well for it to not be, there’s nothing she can do. On the other hand, she’s sat through an all-hands-on-deck at the Tower before and it involved a lot of coffee fetching and dragging engineers away from desks to rest. No closer to answers and mind still in a whirl, she is packed and ready when Steve knocks on her door.

Ready for what, exactly, she couldn’t say.

Steve leads the way to a staging room already full of people she mostly recognises. A woman with short brown hair and a no-nonsense demeanour is the first to notice her. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

All eyes turn to focus on her and Darcy suddenly feels very small. She sets her jaw and tosses her braid over one shoulder. “I’m Darcy Lewis. Heard you were having some trouble and wanted to see if I could help.” That sounded better than _my ex-fake-boyfriend thinks his best friend and the apparently living embodiment of Facebook’s ‘it’s complicated’ relationship status is alive as a legendary assassin._

The brunette fixes her with an unimpressed glare. “Aren’t you Stark’s secretary?”

Darcy matches it with one of her own, hoping she was remembering Steve’s stories correctly. “Aren’t you Fury’s?”

Somebody behind her chokes; she doesn’t turn to see who, and the conversation goes downhill from there. Hill doesn’t trust Darcy, Fury doesn’t trust Tony, and neither of them can find a place for Darcy in their plans for the day. The truth is that her skill set is completely unsuited for their mission and even Steve has to admit she’d be a liability on the ground. Feeling horribly out of place, she’s about to throw in the towel and go back to bed.

“We’ll loop you in on the comms and you can track everything from here,” Nat offers. “Rogers might actually listen, that way.”

“You want to give her a microphone? She’s an untried civilian,” Maria protests, but Steve ends the discussion simply by standing up, an action mirrored by Sam.

“We don’t have time to debate this. Darcy, you alright with this?”

“Aye, aye, cap’n!” Darcy chirps, which probably doesn’t help her in the reliable stakes but makes Steve almost smile, so she considers it worthwhile. Nat’s solution sounds ideal - as much as she wants to know what’s going on, she doesn’t actually want to be in DC when the fighting goes down.

“Then let’s get to it,” Steve says and starts towards the hangar.

“Wait! Steve, c’mere.” When he comes over, she stands up and climbs on her chair so she can look him in the eyes. “I know ‘stay safe’ isn’t an option, but you come back alive, Steve Rogers, you hear me? And,” she lowers her voice, “bring our boy home if you can. By the ear, if you have to.”

At his solemn nod, she ruffles his hair. “Alright, go get ‘em.” When she hops off the chair and looks around, most of the room is staring. “Don’t you all have a world to save?” she demands, and one by one they turn to go.

“You two are odd,” Nat says, as she falls into step beside Steve. “Are you ever going to tell me how you met?”

“I was in a fight,” Steve admits. “She patched me up afterwards.”

Nat narrows her eyes at him, but as certain as she is that he’s hiding something, his words have the ring of truth, and then they’re at the quinjet and she has to become someone else.

* * *

“Did you write that down first, or was it off the top of your head?”

“He’s been muttering it under his breath for the last 20 minutes,” Darcy helpfully informs Sam through their earpieces. “It was great, wasn’t it? Very inspiring. See, if you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything.”

“Can we cut the chatter?” Hill asks, but after sitting through a plane ride of Darcy’s road trip playlist and Princess Bride quotes, she sounds more resigned than annoyed. Instead of being distracted, Rogers is more focused than ever and - was that a _Back to the Future_ reference?

Thankfully, Darcy has the sense to stay quiet once the fighting starts, otherwise, Hill would’ve yanked her out of the loop entirely, whether she and Rogers liked it or not.

* * *

Being on comms is quite the experience. Darcy is somehow both in the midst of the fight and entirely removed from it, and the juxtaposition is disturbing enough that she has to switch over to Nat’s channel to let herself breathe. “Just shoot him,” she suggests during this greasy git’s rant, and to her surprise, Nat does.

"Did you kill him? I thought the pirate needed him alive."

"It's just your shoulder," Nat scoffs as someone groans and Darcy breathes a sigh of relief.

Sitting back, she realises she’s starving and goes to make herself a cup of coffee. It takes longer than expected, due to her not knowing where the kitchen is, and when she gets back and switches back to check on Steve and Sam, it’s to the middle of a conversation.

“You’re my mission!”

Darcy jolts, biting her lip to stop herself crying out. She knows that voice. If she had any doubts, they’ve all disappeared.

There are these awful meaty sounds of fighting before Steve replies, “then finish it, because I’m with you to the end of the line.” It takes her a moment to place the odd note to his voice; she’s never heard it there before. When it clicks, she jams her hand against her mouth in horror.

It’s resignation.

“Steve?” she cries out.

There’s a moment of absolute silence, it seems, and then, “Darcy?”

The voice isn’t Steve’s.

* * *

The man in front of him looks familiar, but this comes as no surprise: he is a target to be eliminated and the Asset remembers him from the briefing. The target talks and talks but his words don’t make any _sense_ and his head hurts, so he pushes them away, falls back into the ice where there is nothing, no pain —

“You’re my mission,” he grinds out against the pressure in his head.

“Then finish it,” the other man says, face bloodied and a small earpiece hanging loose where the blows must have dislodged it. “Because I‘m with you to the end of the line.”

He’s looking down on that face again and it’s thin and pinched with grief, not bruised and bloodied. He’s promising to take care of him, take care of —

“Steve?”

The voice from the earpiece voice is tinny but familiar. Some distant corner of his mind knows it - it’s that woman from the photograph, the one with the secondary target, but she’s not only from the photograph, she’s real and incredible and —

“Darcy,” he says, the name falling from this lips like a prayer as the helicarrier falls from the sky.


	36. April 13 2014

_“Take care of him, would you?”_

For 70 years, his world has been ice and murder. He cannot remember _care_. As they hit the river amidst the falling debris, he remembers _survive_ and it is enough that he hauls Steve to the nearest shore.

_“Take care of him, would you?”_

As he considers his next move, he remembers the handlers and the directive to kill Captain America. He cannot remember _protect_ , either, nor can he articulate that the best defence is a good offence. It doesn’t make a difference.

_“Take care of him, would you?”_

He goes hunting.

* * *

They find Steve on the side of the Potomac, heavy boot prints leading away from his unconscious body. The Tower came through the fall of SHIELD relatively unscathed, so Tony offers to fly Steve to a private hospital in New York.

Darcy refuses on his behalf — there were some benefits to being named his emergency contact and Next of Kin. She and Sam spend the night in the plushest hospital room that Tony’s money could buy for Steve in Washington. Loathe to sleep, they swap stories. He tells her about Steve’s running route and his time in the Army. In return, she shares stories about the ongoing battle to get Steve up to date with pop culture and her work with Jane. She can tell he wants to ask about Bucky, but it’s too raw and he’s nice enough to know not to ask.

She is dozing when Steve finally wakes up and is only half-listening as he talks to Sam.

She is fully awake and trying to sync her phone to the TV when a pretty blonde walks in, clearly nervous. Though not wearing scrubs, she scans Steve’s chart with a practised eye before meeting the gaze of the man himself. “Captain.”

“Neighbour,” he replies stiffly, and Darcy realises this must be the nurse Nat mentioned.

“Come and take a seat,” she says, patting the space on the couch next to her. “I’m Darcy. Who are you and why is Steve glaring at me for inviting you to stay and chat?”

“I - uh - my name is Sharon. I should go.”

Darcy huffs a sigh and tosses her phone at Steve. “Ok, I got it all linked up for you. Knock yourself out  - Nat’s special hearing is in 20 minutes.” With that, she follows Sharon into the corridor. “You only answered one of my questions.”

Resigned, Sharon gestures towards the small lounge area. “Fine. I’m a SHIELD Agent — or I was — and was assigned to keep an eye on Captain Rogers.”

“So you’re not a nurse?”

“Not entirely, no, although it was part of my training and I had a job as part of my cover.”

“Ooh, no wonder he’s mad. Will you go back? To nursing, that is.”

“No, that assignment was over when Fury was killed.”

Darcy bites her tongue to stop herself from correcting the other woman and decides to cut to the chase. “What are your intentions towards Steve?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nat and I have been trying to set Steve up on a date for months. Are you interested?”

“I doubt he’d have me at this point, and really, it would be weird.”

“Weird? Why?”

“My last name is Carter… Peggy Carter is my aunt and the reason I joined SHIELD in the first place.”

Darcy thinks back to lipstick on Steve’s chin. “Oh. Right. Yeah, I can understand the weirdness.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“It was a long shot; he can be so difficult sometimes. What will you do now SHIELD is gone?”

Sharon shrugs. “Join the CIA, maybe. Everything is a bit up in the air at the moment.”

 _Not the helicarriers,_ Darcy thinks. “Good luck with that, I guess.”

“What about you?”

Darcy shrugs, mirroring Sharon’s action from earlier. She’d rather be out searching for Bucky, but with no leads and an entire alphabet soup of agencies converging on Washington, sticking with Steve seems the safest option, if not the most interesting. “Dunno. Might do the tourist thing, visit some of the museums.”

“The Smithsonian has an exhibit on the Captain,” Sharon offers.

“Maybe.” She is saved from having to make a more committal reply by Sam’s return.

“Darcy? Why are you out here, is something wrong?”

“What? Nah, I’m having a chat. Sam, this is Sharon Carter, former Agent of SHIELD. Sharon, this is Sam Wilson. He was the guy with the wings.”

“Oh! That was very impressive fighting.”

Sam grinned. “Glad you liked it. Former agent, huh? What’s on the cards for you now?”

Sensing a rehash of the previous conversation, Darcy decides to make her escape. Smithsonian, huh? She’s done her fair share of research on Steve, but she’s never been to an exhibition on him. Maybe she'll go after watching Nat's interview. Who knows? She might learn something.


End file.
